


Night's Reflection

by Lady_Yunalesca245



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Arranged Marriage, F/M, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-29 19:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 42,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3907693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Yunalesca245/pseuds/Lady_Yunalesca245
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Timothy Jackson Drake---Alpha Guide of New York City was considered blessed and loved by all. He adored his city and its people and he protected it in the day as a charming young man and partner to Alpha Sentinel Richard Grayson and at night as Oracle, partner to Nightwing and New York's Guardian. It was too bad that Timothy never considered how far and deep his connection to Richard ran. (Beta'd by Leeayre)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memory

_"Why are you helping me?"_

"Because I chose to, because this is a thankless job."

The night was always different and the criminals always the same, but nothing stopped Nightwing from asking that same question over and over again. Timothy never got annoyed with the repetitiveness of it because he knew the reasoning behind it. The vigilante wanted confirmation, wanted to test his devotion towards such a thankless job. Timothy would have thought that after a year those fears would have been laid to rest, but he wasn't blind enough to see that the trust wasn't completely there between the two of them and the logical side of him understood. After all, who would trust someone who suddenly hacked their communications night after night like a taunting madman with an ax? However, despite the logical side of his brain prevailing, the emotional side was deeply hurt and he hated himself for it. As Oracle, he worked to keep this city as safe as possible whilst using Nightwing as his sword, but how could he protect it if his sword didn't trust him? If the lines of communication weren't as open as they should be? The lack of trust between them was dangerous and it hurt further to realize that Nightwing was fully aware of it and made no move to correct it. But in truth, Nightwing wasn't the only one keeping deadly secrets and hesitating on making a move to bridge the gap.

Nightwing asked the question, "Why are you helping me?" and Timothy responded, "Because I chose to, because this is a thankless job," but that wasn't the full truth. He would always remember the night that he stumbled upon Nightwing injured and zoned out. It was cold and the snow had just started so Timothy remembers the piercing cold and how bright Nightwing's blood was against the pure, white snow. He remembers standing in the entrance of the alleyway, frozen, watching as the vigilante's lifeblood left his body. He doesn't exactly remember his legs moving, but he remembers his shields reaching out and wrapping Nightwing's mind in a cocoon of warmth and stability. He didn't dare pry further into the once identified Sentinel's mind. The lessons from the Sandburg Guide Academy drilled into his mind and actions: never infiltrate a Guide or Sentinel's mind without permission. The mind and the soul were sanctuaries that he must not impede upon.

The days that followed were long and arduous and filled with frantic whispering from his roommate, Stephanie, who had stumbled upon his room the next morning dreary eyed and yawning to ask for breakfast. He would never forget the fear that penetrated his mind as she saw Nightwing draped along his bed, undressed with the exception of his domino mask and covered in blood-drenched bandages. He couldn't help but be thankful that she was training to be a Guide doctor and was more than willing to help him stave off infections and fevers. Still, even now, she approached his room with a hint of caution, worried that she might find him with another vigilante bleeding out. It was a lesson well learned for her to barge in without asking. Although, she did comment on how handsome Nightwing felt and it still brings a nice blush to his cheeks at the thought of his taken roommate commenting on a Sentinel's emotions and soul, and like him, she didn't pry where she didn't belong.

When the fever had broken and the blood faded from the bandages, Nightwing decided to introduce himself by pinning Timothy down on the bed and growling out demands that he looked back on as amusing and just a tad humiliating. He would never understand how the Sentinel felt waking up in an unknown location with just a pair of new underwear and his domino mask still strapped to his face, but he could imagine what it felt like to be vulnerable and humiliated. It didn't take long to figure out that Nightwing was an Alpha Sentinel with all five senses of sight, taste, touch, smell and hearing activated. It was impressive that he had the Big Five all functioning and managed to live his life with a sense of normalcy. Too many times Timothy had heard stories of Sentinels who couldn't handle all five and decided to off themselves despite having a proficient and loving Guide at their side.

Unfortunately, Nightwing wasn't too keen on giving out information, merely grunting a thanks before accepting a small meal and leaving his building via the fire escape. And while Stephanie was grateful that their visitor was gone into the night, Timothy couldn't help but worry about his well-being: would the man get hurt again? Did he have some kind of support? Question after question drudged up in Timothy's mind until he could take it no longer and decided to dig for some information in the right places, even going so far as to ask Jason Todd, Beta Sentinel and Second-in-Command of New York City, about Nightwing's whereabouts, and surprisingly enough, he got his answers, which led him to breaking into Nightwing's communications, and well, he could only say that it had been uphill and downhill from there.

Nightwing fought and protested, even going so far as to threaten to find him and hang him by his shoes on the edge of the Empire State Building, but nothing kept Timothy away. He couldn't explain the urge to keep the man safe, but he could explain why he took up the mantle of Oracle. To put it in simple terms, Nightwing was needed. Of course, New York had plenty defense, but what about offense? Nightwing did what the Council and Alpha of New York didn't and went where they couldn't. The progress was small and moved at a snail's pace, but gradually New York became a safer place, and as Alpha Guide of New York City, Timothy couldn't be prouder. So, although the trust wasn't there, the pride of keeping the city safe as a fragile team was one thing they had in common. And Timothy could honestly say that it was enough.

For now.

 _"You're quiet,"_ Nightwing's rumbling voice came from the speakers, the tone holding a touch of concern that Timothy had had the privilege to experience as of late. _"Communications didn't break?"_

"No." Timothy leaned back in his chair, his glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. In front of him, the monitors were quiet with the exception of the quiet hums of the fans. It was quiet for once. "I'm still here and communications are fine."

 _"It's been a year."_ Nightwing's movement shuffled to a stop and Timothy could vaguely hear the traffic of a Friday night. _"And you're still here."_

"I'm still here," Timothy confirmed quietly. "Do you expect me to disappear?"

 _"When the screams become too much to bear,"_ Nightwing began, _"I wonder if I'm going to hear that silent click, that telltale sign that says that you're done, but you're still here, Oracle, and I'm really starting to wonder if you get off on this."_

Timothy's jaw clenched at the unexpected insult. Of course, it wasn't new for Nightwing to tease and berate him to get a reaction, but that was a little low and disgusting.

"I'm really starting to wonder if that grappling hook you love so much will unexpectedly stop working." Timothy reveled in the silence that followed, darkly satisfied that he'd managed to shut the man up for once. "And I told you, countless times mind you, that I'm here to help, nothing more and nothing less."

 _"It's been a year,"_ Nightwing repeated, his tone softer and Timothy shivered at the danger of it. _"What you're doing doesn't benefit you in the slightest. So, tell me, without lying, why you're here, with me."_

Timothy's mouth opened and closed, his throat working soundlessly against the request. What was he supposed to say that would make the vigilante believe him? So many words came to his mind, but his mouth wouldn't translate them, so he said the only thing he could.

"You're needed," Timothy whispered, knowing that Nightwing could hear him loud and clear. He gripped the armrest of his chair tightly, wincing as his hand dug into the wood buried beneath. "This city needs you—needs us both."

Nightwing was silent, the only sound was the honking of car horns and the throbbing music of the clubs that were only a block away. The vigilante didn't move or even breathe, and Timothy was starting to wonder if he had said the wrong thing. Maybe it wasn't the answer Nightwing wanted, but he'd told the truth and that was all he could give at the moment.

 _"I'm needed,"_ Nightwing repeated gently. _"I expect that what you said is the best I'm going to get?"_

"Yes, were you expecting something more profound?"

 _"No,"_ Nightwing's response was firm, resolute. _"I suppose that's what I needed to hear. It's one of the reasons why I like you, Oracle. You tell me what I need to hear and not what I want."_

Timothy hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip. "Does that happen often...? In your personal life?"

 _"Too often to be realistic."_ Nightwing chuckled bitterly. _"It's one of those things that come with that type of life, I suppose."_

"Sounds like you had a fun childhood," Timothy drawled, feeling comfortable enough to dish out a sarcastic comment, smiling when it earned a small laugh. "You never told me."

_"Told you what?"_

"Why are you doing this? You don't benefit from this either, you know."

_"It's home."_

The answer was simple, and it didn't hold the eloquence that Timothy's answer did, but it was enough to still his movements and his heart. It's home. That was all that he said, and frankly, it was the only answer and reason that Nightwing needed.

"It's home?" Timothy repeated quietly, his fingers still on the keyboard and he deliberately ignored the shaking. He couldn't believe the audacity of this man! He had to dole out an elaborate answer and Nightwing spouted out this heartfelt and completely compassionate one that melted Timothy's heart?

Not. Fair.

 _"Yeah,"_ Nightwing responded, his voice absolutely drenched with amusement, as if he knew the emotional turmoil that Timothy was going through. _"It's home and it's the same for you, right? Don't tell me that it's not."_

"Of course it's home, but you-" Timothy blew out a tight, aggravated sigh that he made no move to cover. Not more than once did Timothy wonder if he was still sane enough to keep his side job. The perks were beginning to fade. "Never mind. Are you done asking questions?"

 _"Like I said, I suppose I'll take what I can get for an anniversary gift,"_ Nightwing responded and Timothy opened his mouth to let out a teasing remark when the man spoke again, his voice more serious than it had been all night. _"I also do this for him, you know?"_

"For him?"

 _"I... never found out his name, but he helped me out and nursed me back to health."_ Nightwing chuckled sadly and Timothy's heart wretched at the sound. _"I never got to thank him. Just took what they offered me and left. I was too much in a daze to remember where I was so there's no chance of me going back."_

"I-I see," Timothy's heart stuttered at the confession. After all this time, he remembered? "Well, I'm sure he doesn't need a thank you, you know? He's probably happy that you're safe and sound."

_"Think so?"_

"Yeah," Timothy swallowed, sweat rolling down his neck at his response. "I know so." Timothy blinked away his blurred vision when police sirens blared from his speakers. So much for a quiet night.

 _"Ready?"_ Nightwing's voice deepened and Timothy could tell from the tension that his shields had strengthen and his senses heightened as explosions pierced the air. _"Oracle?"_

"I'm ready."


	2. Daily Life

When dawn approached, Oracle vanished with the night and Timothy Drake emerged looking haggard and in desperate need of sleep and food. His glasses were askew and his hair matted with sweat, making it appear longer and suffocating. His clothing stuck to his skin making him feeling closed in and itchy. He desperately wanted to remove his clothing and fall into bed if not for the constant ringing of his cell phone and the slow beat of Stephanie's music flowing from the walls. No, he wouldn't be getting any solid rest today. His duties as Alpha Guide called and Richard would be coming in an hour and a half to discuss a charity function. Which meant that he couldn't be looking like he just came home after a long, wild night of partying. He didn't move a step before the door opened and Stephanie, his crazy and loving roommate, came in swaying her hips and singing into a hairbrush. A sight that caused his lips to twitch. Many a morning was like this, and he honestly wouldn't change it for the world.

He moved to collect his clothing, grinning when Stephanie moved further into his room while lip syncing, stopping when she noticed his haggard appearance. She moved to close the door to muffle the music before sighing loudly and placing her hands on her hips and tilting her head to the side.

"All night? Again?"

"If it makes you feel better, the meetings only lasted about an hour longer than they were supposed to." Timothy frowned at the boxer-briefs before setting them on the dresser and moving to the closet to take out a simple pair of slacks and a long-sleeved dark-blue shirt. "How were clinicals?"

"Boring, well, except for that massive explosion last night." Stephanie gave him a worried look. "It was near the docks that Alpha Grayson owns. No one was hurt, were they?"

Timothy frowned, his mind going back to the incident. It was near those docks, but he was pretty sure there were no serious injuries unless you counted the ones Nightwing inflicted.

"No," Timothy responded. "Thankfully, no one was injured."

"Good." Stephanie looked relieved, her blue eyes scanning his appearance with weariness that didn't belong there. "You should really start sleeping better, Timmy, you look like crap."

"Thanks Dr. Brown," Timothy returned sarcastically, folding his clothing into neat piles before moving to find socks and shoes. Richard was going to be here around noon and it was near the eleventh hour. "You have excellent bedside manner."

"Thank you." Stephanie smiled, the motion sharp and telling Timothy that she wasn't fooled. "So, what are your plans for today? Are you going on a date with Richard? Actually going to spend some time with him?"

"We're supposed to be discussing a charity auction and then we're going to lunch at some restaurant," Timothy responded, ignoring the eyebrow wiggling his roommate was giving him. "We're not going to jump into bed together, you know."

"I know," Stephanie said, remorseful with a twinkle in her eye. "It would be nice if the headboard would hit the wall once in a while." Stephanie gave him a sly smile as she watched Timothy's cheeks heat at the implication. "What? It would do you a world of good."

"Richard and I... aren't at that part of our relationship," Timothy murmured, his cheeks still heated and his heart beating fiercely against his chest. He didn't think they would ever hit that part of their relationship. Richard had made that startlingly clear when the offer to live in the Grayson Manor never came up in the year since their engagement. On most days, it was easy for Timothy to think the relationship between him and Richard was one of mutual understanding, but on the harder, unbearable days, he wished something was there in Richard's eyes. Something to tell him that at least he had a chance at a romantic relationship in the future, but nothing was there except warm acceptance, and it broke Timothy's spirit on a daily basis. If it wasn't for his time as Oracle, then he was positive that he would have gone insane a long time ago. Richard wasn't a bad man, no, in fact, he was very kind and passionate about his city and its people.

He just wasn't passionate about his relationship to his arranged Guide.

"Oh," Stephanie looked mildly uncomfortable at his response, shuffling her socked feet on the floor before sighing softly. "I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. I know... how strained your relationship with Richard is, Timmy."

"It's okay." Timothy felt his cheeks heat further at the pity in Stephanie's voice. He knew that she didn't mean it in a disrespectful way—she never did—but it still hurt when his lack of a relationship with Richard was brought up. It hurt even worse when the whispers about Richard and Barbara Gordon being together suited New York better. It was a constant battle for him not to walk away from this arrangement, but the fact that he was falling for Richard made the ordeal all the more difficult. He felt like an idiot, falling for such a man, but being a Guide didn't mean controlling how you felt. You could only feel what others felt and protect those around you and Timothy was positive that feelings of love and warmth were far from Richard's aura when it concerned him.

"It's okay, really, but enough about me, how was clinical? Dr. Thompkins doing fine?"

"Oh, she's wonderful," Stephanie responded, knowing that the shift of subject was on purpose. "Best Guide Doctor in all of New York. I can't thank you enough for signing my recommendation letter. Who knew that being an Alpha Guide would have so much pull."

Timothy snorted, at least it was one of the perks. "You'll have pull all on your own soon enough. I mean, after becoming a doctor and being bonded to Jason, you'll have plenty of pull, right?"

"Right." Stephanie frowned, her blue eyes turning wary at the thought of bonding to Jason, which caused Timothy to raise an eyebrow. "Right."

"You and Jason fight again?" Timothy inquired quietly. "You need a mediator?"

"No, thank you," Stephanie responded softly. "And no, Jason and I aren't fighting. The Council is just putting a little pressure on us right now."

Timothy raised an eyebrow at the somewhat vague response. "Pressure?" he asked carefully. "What kind pressure, exactly?"

Stephanie shot him a worried look, her eyes conveying what she couldn't exactly say at the moment. "Not us as a couple, but you and Richard."

"What," Timothy snapped, his demeanor softening when Stephanie flinched at his tone. "So, that comment about-"

"No." Stephanie shook her head wildly. "I was just teasing about that, but the Council is asking Jason and I to see what the problem is between you." Stephanie clenched her jaw. "I turned them down and they've been constantly harassing us about the situation. I'm sorry, Timmy, I should have told you earlier."

"It's fine, Stephanie, it's not your fault." Timothy frowned in thought. "I'll make sure to bring up the matter with Richard." He went over and embraced his friend, who buried her face into his shoulder. "It's not your fault," he repeated, feeling the regret and sadness coming off her in waves. Stephanie was always the cheerful one, but he should've known that she was suffering. He should have known that the Council would pull something like this when little to no progress was being made between him and Richard. He was so wrapped up in his business as Oracle that his social life and duties as Alpha Guide suffered as a consequence.

"I'll fix it," Timothy promised, pulling away and wiping away the few stray tears that managed to slide down Stephanie's cheeks. "I'll fix it and make it up to you, okay?"

"You don't have to do that, Timmy." Stephanie shook her head, her bangs swaying with the motion. "You really don't have to do that, you know?"

"But I do, I do have to do that. You're my friend and future second and I can't have this council harassing you because of the decisions Richard and I made. It isn't right for either you or Jason."

"I told you, it's-" Stephanie blinked when her phone vibrated, sighing when she saw it was Jason on the other line. "I'm sorry, I have to take this. I'll be back so go ahead and shower and Richard will probably be here when you get out." She didn't wait for his response, taking the call and leaving the room with his simmering thoughts. He moved to the shower, stripping as he went, his mind reeling at the information.

It wasn't a surprise that the Council would go behind his and Richard's back, but what was even worse was the fact that he had a sick feeling that Richard was well aware of the harassment and did nothing to change it. It was just like him to avoid problems and rectify it when it became too bothersome with his own affairs. He could imagine how pissed Jason was at the moment. The two had been friends since they were children and he knew that Jason understood the responsibilities of an Alpha, but even he could be pushed to the brink by the constant harassment and prodding. It wouldn't be long before those two were having it out because of it.

The moment the water hit his skin, his muscles relaxed and a small moan escaped his lips before he reached for the soap and did a quick rub down. As much as he would have loved to spend a whole hour in the shower, Richard would be arriving and the man was a stickler for punctuality, and he really wasn't in the mood to deal with the heavy silence and the disappointed tsk of a tongue. It really grated on his nerves.

Timothy's hand reached for the shampoo when he heard the door creak open and the rush of cool air invade the bathroom. He remained frozen under the shower spray when the door clicked shut and a quiet cough interrupted his silence.

"Morning."

Timothy blinked the water out of his eyes, startled by the deep voice that belonged to one Richard Grayson. He was positive that he wasn't in the shower for that long, let alone talking to Stephanie for that long.

"Am I late?" he called out from the spray of water, wanting to step out behind the curtain to check the time. He was positive that he wasn't late. "Richard?"

"No." Richard's voice was quiet underneath the steam and water. "I'm early, actually."

"Oh, well, good morning, I guess." Timothy flushed when Richard made no move to respond. "Is there something urgent you needed?"

"No," Richard responded again, and this time, Timothy didn't miss the playful tone the Alpha adopted, giving Timothy all the reasoning he needed to throw the bottle of shampoo into Richard's perfect face. The man trapped him there, deliberately. Asshat.

Timothy peeked his head out from behind the shower curtain and his lips twitched at the sight of Richard's quickly dampening hair thanks to the steam, but other than that, the man looked perfect in a black suit and deep blue tie that matched his eyes well. Perfect and without a hair out of place as always.

"We need to talk," Timothy demanded, the water from his hair trickling down his nose and into his eyes. "Did you know the Council was harassing Stephanie and Jason?"

"No, I wasn't aware until Jason phoned and called me every name in the book along with a few creative ones that I've tucked away." Richard smiled, the notion bitter. "It's one of the reasons why I'm here a little earlier."

"You need help dealing with the council?" Timothy tried, slumping when Richard gave a shake of the head. "You want to discuss the charity auction?"

"Later, but for the moment we can pretend that we actually are in the process of bonding and getting to know one another on a more intimate level. For Jason and Stephanie's sake."

For Stephanie and Jason's sake? Right.

Right.

"Of course." Timothy swallowed back his words and stared at Richard, who looked mildly uncomfortable with the whole conversation. Timothy made no move to make it better. Why should he make it better when it was just as bad for him? Pretending? They shouldn't have to pretend to do or be anything and it was insulting that Richard even brought it up. They were supposed to be Guide and Sentinel. They were supposed to protect this city together. Instead, they were bending the damn knee to a bunch of old geezers and pretending that they had a relationship.

"Timothy-"

"What?" Timothy snapped, instantly regretting it as the small room turned ice cold with tension. He flushed in mortification and lowered his head while Richard stood ramrod still next to the door, silent and contemplating. "I'm sorry. I-I apologize."

"It's fine," Richard responded smoothly before turning on his heel and opening the door quietly. "Get dressed so that we can discuss the plans for the auction."

The door slammed shut, leaving Timothy wondering what in the hell he was going to do now. It didn't take an idiot to realize that Richard was pissed at the snapping and Timothy would have to make up for it. Even if he didn't want to. He saw no reason to apologize to a man who was making no visible effort to be with him nor training himself to stay in the same damn room-

Timothy took a deep, shuddering breath and turned off the water, shuddering as goosebumps raced along his skin. He could do this. He could put up with Richard for at least an hour. But, deep down, he knew he shouldn't feel that way about the Sentinel. A Guide should be happy when their Sentinel came home or to visit. A Guide shouldn't get exhausted at the thought of seeing him, but then again, a Guide couldn't help how they felt in certain situations. But, he was a Drake, he could handle it.

He just hoped the end result would be beneficial to them both.


	3. Social Circles

"I do apologize about this whole fiasco, Guide Brown. Not only is this harassment, but this is insulting to my name and yours, and for that, I do apologize."

Timothy stopped in the hall leading to the living room at the sound of Richard's smooth voice talking to Stephanie about the Council. He took a careful step back, allowing the conversation to continue. He wanted to see what Richard would do to correct the situation.

"It's alright, Alpha Grayson." Stephanie's soothing voice came back, and Timothy didn't have to see his friend's face to know that she had a small flush to her normally pale cheeks. One thing Richard was good at was charming women. "If anything, Jason and I didn't want to trouble you or Timothy."

"Thank you, but it would have been better if you had told me when the harassment started." Richard clicked his tongue, which caused Timothy's eye to twitch. It would be a tick before too long. "How did Timothy take it?"

"He was upset, of course," Stephanie murmured. "He said that he would take care of it and well, considering that you know now, I can guess it's going to get nipped in the bud, so to speak?"

"Yes, I'll take care of it. I can understand the council's concerns about our relationship, but frankly, it's none of their concern."

Stephanie was quiet for a moment, before speaking again, her voice subdued. "I mean no disrespect, Alpha, but by not... having an amicable relationship with Timothy, you are making this entire situation their business. In their eyes, the council is doing what's best for New York City, and when such a thing happens, what you or anyone feels becomes irrelevant."

"Right." Richard's voice was tight and held suppressed anger at the situation that was suddenly laid in his lap. "I know that I'm not making it easier with my attitude towards Timothy, but I can't help-" Richard stopped and Timothy held his breath, hoping that the man would finish the sentence, but his hopes were dashed when Richard let out a small chuckle that sent a shiver running down his spine in a pleasing way.

"Timothy?" Richard called, his voice dropping into a dark purr. "You can come out now. You've heard enough."

Timothy froze, just on the entrance to the living room as his heart skipped a beat at the tone of Richard's voice. He swallowed, sweat trailing down the back of his neck, causing him to shiver. Richard had known that he was hiding and hadn't called him out before, so why now?

"Timothy," Richard called out once more, his voice now bordering on impatience. An indication that the conversation with Stephanie had all but depleted it. "Come join us. Now."

Timothy's feet were moving and he suddenly found himself in the living room at Richard's side and Stephanie staring at him with bemusement and just a little hint of worry in her blue eyes. He wasn't the type to hide, after all.

"As I've said, I'll deal with the Council as soon as possible. And again, you have my deepest apologies, Guide Brown." Richard lowered his head before raising it and turning to Timothy with a tight smile. "And you have my apologies as well, Timothy. I'm sorry that I allowed this to get out of hand."

"It's fine," Timothy murmured, feeling wary at the apology. It was definitely sincere, but the way Richard stared at him, it felt as if it was Timothy's fault that the harassment happened in the first place. It wasn't said aloud, but Richard had most likely fully intended for him to keep an eye on Stephanie, Jason's Guide, his friend's beloved, and by allowing such harassment to happen in the first place, Richard thought of the whole incident as a failure on his part. He found the silent accusation a little more than unfair on Richard's part, but how could he say anything?

And if he did, would it even matter?

Stephanie's phone ringing broke the awkward silence that descended upon him and she flushed when the dirty song echoed along the walls and from the couch. "Sorry," Stephanie whispered, picking up the phone and cutting it off, though the damage had already been done. "I have to go to work. Thank you for your time, Alpha Grayson. See you later, Timothy."

Stephanie left without waiting for a reply, leaving the both of them in an awkward silence that Richard broke with a small, tight sigh before planting himself on the couch and spreading his arms along the back. "I'll call a small meeting after the auction and I'll need you to be there to act as a representative for Stephanie."

"She can't be there?"

"She's not a part of the Council yet," Richard responded heavily. "If she was, then she wouldn't have told us about the problem and it would have been solved before it reached your ears."

"You blame me," Timothy stated, his tone revealing the hurt that the accusation brought forth and he hated himself for revealing it too easily. "I'm sorry that I can't be there to watch her every movement-"

"You live with her, Timothy," Richard cut in smoothly, sweeping over Timothy's frayed feelings. "The fact that you missed it tells me that you're doing something that you shouldn't be doing, little one-"

"Don't call me that," Timothy snapped viciously, caring less about the heavy tension that was quickly covering the apartment. "I'm not your little one, nor am I your child. I'm your Guide, and I expect you to at least have the fucking decency to treat me like it."

"Strange," Richard murmured, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. "You're getting pretty riled over that little comment about you doing something you shouldn't, little one." Richard smiled, the action sharp and cold. "Are you doing something you're not supposed to, little one?"

"I'm leaving," Timothy retorted coldly, turning on his heel only to be pulled back by Richard by the wrist and turned to face cold blue eyes and a deadly smirk. "Let me go."

"Don't," Richard murmured softly. "You haven't answered my question, little one. Were you or were you not doing something that you weren't supposed to be doing?" Richard gritted his teeth, his mouth set in snarl when Timothy moved to escape his grip. "I'm not in a joking mood, Timothy-"

"Neither am I, and let me go, you're hurting me, Alpha Grayson."

Richard pulled away, as if stung by the formal name. His eyes softened and his face morphed into regret. "I didn't- I didn't mean to be like that, Timothy. I apologize."

"You didn't mean to be like that?" Timothy repeated, his tone bordering on incredulous. "That's no excuse, Richard. You can't lash out at me every time your duties bear down on you. I'm your Guide, not your enemy. I'm sorry that this happened with Stephanie and Jason, but she's a big girl and I can't be there to watch her like a hawk. She'd kick my ass if I did that. I love her and for you to sit there and insinuate that I'm not doing my job as her roommate and friend is insulting."

"Timothy-"

Timothy sliced the air, causing Richard to clench his jaw and remain silent. "I don't want nor need to talk about this right now, Richard. Let's just discuss this auction and get it over with, okay?"

"No." Richard stood abruptly from the couch and headed towards the door with a stiff back. "I'll send my assistant over and you can discuss it with her. I think it's best if we took some space from each other right now."

"Fine." Timothy's own jaw clenched when Richard didn't respond, simply placing a hand on the doorknob. "When is the Council meeting?"

"I'll make it three days from today." Richard sounded tired at the thought. "I'll come and pick you up. It's better if we show up together. I'll see you then."

Timothy waited, patiently, as the door closed and Richard's footsteps faded before allowing his shoulders to slump and the sorrow he felt to come off him in waves. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and counted to ten, taking a deep breath as his numbers lowered. This was ridiculous to have such a toxic relationship. He shouldn't have to put up with this crap. He shouldn't-

Timothy shook his head, dispelling the negative thoughts that were building. It wouldn't do any good to stand here and get angry about the situation. Stephanie and Jason wouldn't be harassed by the Council, and in the end, he supposed that was all that mattered. But, if that was the case, then why did he feel so wrong? Why did he feel like this whole situation was nothing but a precursor to his future? The thought sent a shiver down his spine and he wrapped his arms around his waist and bit his lips to stop the stinging of his tears. He couldn't wait until the night. He couldn't wait until he could put Oracle's mask back on and be in control of his life, even if it was for little more than ten hours, at least he would have control and help people who probably appreciated it.

The door opened again, and Stephanie's flushed face appeared, looking haggard in her scrubs. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I-" Stephanie stopped, seeing the expression on Timothy's face and lowered her bag to the floor. "He pissed you off again?"

"No." Timothy swallowed back his tears, building up his shield before Stephanie could attempt to read his emotions. "It's fine. What did you-" Timothy stopped when he felt Stephanie's wiry arms around his shoulders. "I don't want a hug."

"So? Doesn't mean you don't need a hug." Stephanie's arms tightened around his shoulders. "I wish you would speak up about how he treats you, Timothy. If he pisses you off, tell him; if he makes you sad, tell him. A bond between a Sentinel and Guide just isn't about being bound together by the soul. It's about communication and using your words instead of allowing the other to feel what you're feeling." Stephanie placed a hand over Timothy's heart. "Sometimes, not everything reaches out how you want it to, you know?"

"He won't listen. He never listens," Timothy protested, pulling away and blocking himself from Stephanie's comfort. "What am I supposed to do? I can't keep doing this, Stephanie. We can't even stay in the same damn room together. There's no such thing as communication with him. It's either his way or none at all."

"It doesn't have to be that way." Stephanie murmured, reaching for him again. "Talk to him. You never know what's going to happen if you do, you know?" Stephanie shook her head when he made no move to respond. "I'll come back and talk to you in the morning, okay? My clinicals are starting in an hour and I have to be across town in less than that." Stephanie leaned over and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "Be good and remember what I said, okay?"

Stephanie was out the door before he could respond, leaving him with his thoughts that he shrugged off by putting on his coat. He needed to escape this place that had Richard's scent and his disapproval. He needed a few hours to remember why he was doing this as Oracle and as an Alpha Guide.

He needed to retrace his steps.


	4. Oracle's Night

The alleyway had been pitch black and the smell rancid from garbage and feces, but Timothy remembered the bright white snow that managed to dilute the smell, and he remembered how bright Nightwing's blood had been against that same snow. He remembered walking that night, the wind making his cheeks red and his thick layer of clothing doing nothing to protect him from New York's famous cold. He had been out with Stephanie, celebrating the fact she had finally made it through the second-to-last leg of medical school and had been accepted as Dr. Thompkins' assistant. Her eyes had been bright with alcohol and her voice loud with joy that still echoed in Timothy's mind a scant year later. The celebrations had ended when Jason appeared, dressed to the nines to take Stephanie out on a night on the town to further celebrate her accomplishment. They both offered for him to come along, of course, but he turned them down, stating that they both deserved the night. What was Stephanie's accomplishment was Jason's and vice versa. So he left them to their devices and decided that a walk would do him some good.

He wasn't in the mood to return to a cold, empty apartment.

Timothy knew he shouldn't have been out alone. It was close to the holidays and crime was up with thieves using the night as a cloak to steal presents that mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters worked extra shifts to obtain. Not to mention the fact that he was a Guide. It wasn't uncommon back then to find a Sentinel zoning out before they locked on to an oblivious Guide and decided that the cold night was perfect for bonding—willing or not—and Timothy would often receive a light chiding from Jason followed by a small case of mace pressed into his hand that wouldn't be returned. Jason would have preferred to train Timothy in hand-to-hand combat, but was wary because, while Richard didn't often get along with Timothy, the man was possessive of his Guide—which, to Timothy, made little to no sense. Still, he figured that it was best not to press the matter and accept the mace for Jason and Stephanie's peace of mind. Both were aware of his midnight strolls and often worried if he would be found in an alleyway with his clothes removed and his throat slit. The entire city knew that he was Richard Grayson's Guide, but that particular fact mattered little in the face of a crazed Sentinel or a thief looking to get a few dollars for a quick fix.

It was ironic, Timothy later realized, that he would find Nightwing in an alleyway, covered with blood and bruises that would take days to fade, despite his ability to heal quickly. Back then, the only thing that mattered was making sure that Nightwing was alive, that he was breathing. He didn't think that there might be someone else still in the alleyway, someone waiting for another victim. The only thing that mattered was getting him out of the cold to attend to his wounds. Despite being Alpha Guide to New York, there wasn't much Timothy could do to prevent incidents like Nightwing's and he wondered if there were others like this masked man—others who had been robbed, raped and kidnapped. The police could only do so much to protect a city that held millions and Richard could only make so many rules to protect Sentinels, Guides, and the people. There were times when Timothy wondered if it was hopeless to do something at all. It had been that night that changed his mind. Seeing Nightwing so hurt and zoned out prompted Timothy to heal the then unknown vigilante. He didn't like to think what would have happened if he hadn't helped.

He didn't like to imagine New York without Nightwing's protection.

As Nightwing's wounds and mind healed, Timothy dove into researching about the vigilante, and of course, as he expected, there was nothing there but faded pictures and small articles about a masked man who traveled the rooftops and saved people who were unlucky enough to be prey to New York's rather dangerous nights. He wasn't surprised at the lack of information. It was obvious that this masked man wasn't as big as Batman, Wonder Woman, or Superman, but that didn't stop Timothy from looking into every nook and cranny, going so far as to ask Jason, who merely gave him a look of amusement before doing as he requested. Again, he wasn't surprised when Jason came back with scraps and he wasn't surprised that the man was quite frustrated with his results. Jason wasn't the type to come back with little information and even less so when said information was vague as it had been. So, he had no information on this man other than the fact that he was a vigilante and a zoned out Sentinel who most likely didn't have a Guide. Back then, he'd known it had been foolish to take him back to his apartment where he could harm him and Stephanie, but he was never the type to leave a man or woman out in the cold. He would later vehemently deny that it was curiosity that made him bring Nightwing back, but rather empathy.

It made him feel better about the fact that he let in a man who had vast potential for homicide.

But the potential danger of the situation faded to the back of his mind as Nightwing grew stable under his and Stephanie's care. Day by day, the Sentinel grew more responsive to his touch and his voice, as if he was addicted by it, and Timothy knew that there was a chance it could happen seeing as it looked like the man hadn't experienced a Guide's touch in what was most likely years. But despite that danger, Timothy had stayed by Nightwing's side day in and day out, making sure the man's bandages were changed and that he was clean. It was difficult, considering the vigilante outweighed him by at least eighty pounds of pure muscle, but such a thing didn't deter Timothy or Stephanie, who was used to lifting heavier patients. There were times, however, that Timothy was drawn to Nightwing's natural aura as a Sentinel. The pull between them had grown stronger because of the close proximity, and often Timothy found himself touching the man's hand while Stephanie was away at classes or napping from pure exhaustion. Looking back, he wondered if it would have been possible to start a pre-mature bond if Nightwing had stayed longer?

Thankfully, he never got the chance to find that out, for one night, he found himself pinned under a suddenly awake Nightwing with a frightened Stephanie hovering in the doorway with the cell phone clutched tightly in her hands, her fingers shaking too hard to dial 911. Even now, he could still feel the man's tight grip that could have easily snapped his neck but even so, he'd felt no malicious behavior coming from Nightwing. He'd only felt a frazzled man who'd had no idea where he was and who the people taking care of him were and what their intentions with him were.

Unfortunately, to Timothy, no names were exchanged at the time and the only thing Nightwing was interested in was escaping the apartment, which he did in a flurry of movements that left him breathless and Stephanie shaking with pure, unadulterated relief. The fact that Timothy wasn't relieved should have raised his suspicions back then, but the only thing that mattered was finding out more about that man, about the one whom he felt such a connection to. He didn't try to understand it back then; he didn't want to understand it. The only thing that he wanted was more of that feeling. More of that light-hearted feeling of helping someone, even if they did him harm. Most would have called this a fetish: something that needed to be examined, and cured. But Timothy didn't want a name for it. He felt as if it didn't need one at all.

He spent his nights searching, looking through alleyways and rooftops and even going so far as to travel to Brooklyn, Queens, Manhattan, and Staten Island a night a week to find a trace, a clue of this vigilante, only to come home disappointed every night and tired through his bones. Ordinarily, a normal person would have given up at this point, satisfied that the vigilante had vanished into the night, no longer their problem, but Timothy was never one to turn away from a problem or allow his curiosity to stagnate. He knew better. Deep down, he knew better than to search Nightwing out when there was a possibility that the man would either chase him away or wouldn't remember at all. He knew both outcomes were very possible, but it didn't stop him from sitting down one night and catching a single radio broadcast that opened the floodgates. He would have to thank Jason for idly leaving his police scanner at the table of their apartment.

He was never more thankful for the man being the Chief of Police by proxy and keeping ridiculous hours. It wasn't hard to follow Nightwing's trail after that, considering the police were vocal after his sightings. It was even more simple to deduce that Nightwing was working alone and most likely had a partner when things got too dicey, which was often, considering the convicts trickling into New York when Gotham got a little too hot for them to handle. It was a problem that was easily rectified when Nightwing sent them packing most nights, but it was when the two vixens, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, decided that New York was going to be their stomping grounds for a few weeks that Timothy decided he should lend Nightwing a hand. The two women weren't going to be a problem, that he knew, but Poison Ivy had the tendency to use her Guide abilities to enthrall men into a watery grave and well, he couldn't let his hero fall to that fate, could he?

It wasn't easy, gathering the parts, the space, or the time, but when your empathy rates were the highest recorded in New York history and your parents were filthy rich, things tended to go a little bit easier. He didn't know what he was doing or if he was doing the right thing, but the memory of Nightwing lying almost eerily still on the snow covered ground was enough to prompt him to create a persona that could watch over Nightwing from behind the scenes, that could wrap proverbial wings around the man and protect him like he protected the city.

The first few nights spent as this persona were a bust, and he spent most nights fixing his equipment and failing to catch the signal that Nightwing communicated on, but like always, a stroke of luck opened the gates for Timothy. Nightwing's comm unit was damaged in a fight with one of Ivy's plants and it was enough for Timothy to break through and speak with the man for the first time.

He should have expected the hostility and suspicion. He hadn't expected the amusement coming from his own end.

"Who are you? How did you get on this channel?"

"Shouldn't you worry about going after her? I mean, those plants look nasty."

"Get off this channel. I won't ask twice."

"She proceeded to the West side of the city, near the Grayson Docks. Be careful, she has people waiting for you."

"Okay, it's obvious you don't know the meaning of get-the-hell-out-of-this-channel. So, why don't we try this another way, alright? If you don't get off this channel and out of my ear, I will find you."

"Are you always this hostile? Instead of arguing with me, you should go help those people who are being tossed in the freezing water. They won't last long in this weather."

"Fine. West, Grayson Docks, you said?"

"Yes."

"I'll follow your advice, but why don't you tell me your name? If I'm going to have a bug buzzing in my ear for God knows how long, I'd prefer to call it something instead of a derogatory name."

A name? He'd never thought of that before. A name was the last thing he was thinking about and now this man wanted one?

"Hello? Did you leave?"

"No, you won't get rid of me that easily. My name is Oracle, you can call me that."

It was better than nothing.

"And you? What can I call you?"

"Nightwing. You can call me Nightwing."

Nightwing. It fit him, somehow.

"Alright, Nightwing, why don't you rescue those people? I'm sure they'd appreciate it."

"Yeah, of course, but I want answers later."

It felt exhilarating, that first time helping Nightwing, and it was a rush that he didn't get over even after a long year of mistrust and fighting that left the line between them cold and silent. On more than one occasion, he wondered if Nightwing knew where he was located, and who he was, but it didn't matter to him and he didn't think it mattered to Nightwing. They were saving people and that was all that mattered in the end.

Timothy smiled, blinking away the memory, and found himself staring at that same alleyway that he found Nightwing in a year ago before turning on his heel and leaving, shivering as the wind brushed against his cheeks, stinging them red. Strange, he remembered feeling this cold on that night. That night when his entire world shifted and he welcomed change with open arms for the first time in his life. It was a night that was filled with revelations and the opening of a path that had yet to see an end. 

It was Oracle's Night.


	5. A Best Friend

"So, when is this auction again?" Stephanie examined the invitation, her nose crinkling as her mind reeled at the cost of the paper. It wasn't cheap and it could have paid her light bill if she was still living in the Bronx, but to each their own, she supposed. "I mean, they've been planning this for what? Three months now?"

"It's because Alpha Sentinels and Guides are coming from all over the country to participate." Timothy grabbed another roller and starting twisting Stephanie's hair, snapping it shut when he reached her scalp. "And it's the twenty-fifth."

"Saturday?" Stephanie sounded disappointed as she placed the invitation between the pages of one of her many medical textbooks. "You sure you need me for a plus one? I mean, do I really need to be there?" she reached up and felt her hair, yelping when her hand was smacked away. "You're such a sour-puss, and who taught you to do hair anyway?"

"I need you there for moral support, and you're supposed to be there because you're going to be my future Second and my mother taught me how to do hair. She was always teaching me weird skills." Timothy held up a handful of Stephanie's hair with a grimace. "Like when someone has split ends to hell and back."

"You know," Stephanie began dryly, wrapping her hand around his ankle and giving a tight squeeze. "You're not exactly making your case and I really see no benefit of going to the auction."

"You don't want to embarrass Jason, do you?" Timothy questioned, smirking when he felt her hand still. "And besides, you don't want all those nasty women crawling over him with their nice nails and dresses and perfume."

"He can't stand perfume," Stephanie cut in, her voice amused. "I haven't worn it since I met him and I doubt he'll stand it now with all those women you're making up. You always did have an imagination on you, Timmy." Stephanie reached up and patted him on the knee as he continued to roll up her hair. "By the way, have you heard from Sentinel Grayson?"

"No," Timothy replied, his voice turning cold at the thought of the man. He hadn't spoken to Richard in the days that followed their argument, and for once, he was glad for the sudden lack of communication. He wouldn't have to put up with the man's arrogance, and the urge to punch the man in the throat had faded significantly since then, which, when one thought about it, was good for Richard's sake. According to his old friend, Conner, he had a hell of a right hook when the occasion called for it.

"As much as I agree on the fact that he can be a massive asshole on occasion, you can't avoid him forever, you know?" Stephanie leaned her head back, careful of the rollers in her hair. "I mean, he did get the Council off our backs-"

"Which he blamed me for," Timothy cut in swiftly. "I fail to see why I get blamed for actions I can't control and over people that I hardly see at all." Timothy shook his head, his lips thinning at the thought of the argument. Was it his fault that rotten excuse of a council went over his head and butted into his business? No, it wasn't his fault at all.

"He's... just probably stressed out?" Stephanie winced at her own words, feeling like she was sticking up for Richard instead of Timothy, whom she had known longer and was closer to, but being with Jason and experiencing the other side—the side of Sentinel-Guide Politics—she had an understanding of what both men went through on a daily basis. And while she couldn't exactly blame Timothy for his animosity, she did want him to understand how much pressure Richard and even Jason were under from the city and the council. It couldn't have been easy being born the heir of New York—one of the biggest cities in the nation—and it couldn't have been easy to have a Guide that was as stubborn as Timothy Jackson Drake.

"He's always stressed and it's always directed towards me at the worst possible times, Stephanie." Timothy grabbed another roller from the container and continued with Stephanie's hair, his lips thinned and his eyes darkening with visible anger. "That doesn't mean he should take it out on me. I-I know that I have a responsibility towards the city and him, but I just wish he looked at me as if-" Timothy stopped, his breath suddenly shuddering. "As if I meant something to him."

"Timmy-" Stephanie's heart skipped a beat at the suppressed sob that escaped her friend's throat. She was quick to wrap her arms around him and bury her half-rolled hair into his shoulders. "I-I'm sorry, Timmy. I didn't mean-"

"No." Timothy visibly swallowed back another sob. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Stephanie. I didn't mean to get emotional. I didn't mean to drag you and Jason into our problems. Richard was right, I should've been more careful with you."

"Hey!" Stephanie said sharply, removing her head from Timothy's shoulder and grabbing his chin roughly. "I can take care of myself, and I have Jason. As much as you don't want to hear it, you're not responsible for my welfare. If I'm going to be your Second, then you need to expect me to take care of myself, Timothy." Stephanie removed her hand and placed it on his cheek. "I'm fine, okay? Listen to me, Timmy, you-you need to talk to Richard about how you're feeling, seriously." She gave him a look of heavy concern that was pushed into her aura and forced Timothy to put his mental shield up, lest he start crying again at the emotion alone. "I'm afraid-" She swallowed heavily and pressed on again, her voice shaky. "I'm afraid for you and your mental shields if this continues. You're stressed, full of anxiety, tired, and irritable, and as Guides, that isn't good. It's going to affect your abilities and you're going to end up-" She stopped. "You're going to end up like my mother, Timothy, broken by her Sentinel because he cared little for her mental and physical welfare. I don't want you to end up like her, Timmy. I don't want you to end up broken and displaced in a world that no longer gives a damn."

"Stephanie-"

"Will you talk to him?" Stephanie stared into his eyes, her own blue eyes pleading. "Will you at least try to talk to him about this? For me?"

"And if he doesn't listen?" Timothy asked softly, his own body suddenly exhausted at the thought. He'd thought he was strong enough to handle this relationship. Strong enough to handle Richard's attitude towards him—the coldness and disregard of his feelings and who he was as a person—but he'd been wrong. As stupid as it was to admit, he hadn't realized how much of a mental toll such a thing was going to be on his mind. And at times, he supposed that he was waiting for Richard to acknowledge him not only as his Guide, but as a dear friend that he could confide in, but feeling the way he did and seeing the expression of utter desperation on Stephanie's face made it all too clear that this dream wasn't going to come true.

"I'll talk to him," Timothy replied at last, a weak smile on his lips as he pulled her back down on the floor. "But, let's finish your hair first, yeah? I want my friend, my heart to look good at the auction, right?"

Stephanie's shoulders slumped, as if she knew that he was lying and trying to change the subject as best as he could, but she nodded, nonetheless, the conversation over for the time being.

The relief that he felt towards Stephanie's mercy was palpable.

000000000000000

Later, Timothy would look back at this moment and laugh at the irony of it all. Of the broken promise made with Stephanie, and the jealous rage he felt towards his supposed enemy.

The Annual Charity Auction was an event that was aimed to earn more money towards Sentinel and Guide research. Despite the fact that Sentinels and Guides had been around since the late 1800s with the first being Jim Ellison, of whom Timothy was a descendant, and Blair Sandburg, whom the Guide Academy was named after, few advances had been made towards Sentinels and Guides and whether it was luck of the draw or pure genetics. But theories of scientists and fanatics were known to state that Sentinels and Guides were "Pure Humans" and that normal human beings were the ones with blood so diluted and impure that the abilities Sentinels and Guides were blessed with had left their bloodlines. To Timothy, it was merely genetics, and deep down, he considered those who weren't born a Sentinel or Guide to be extremely lucky. They weren't dictated by their instincts and weren't destined to marry a specific person.

To not have these abilities was the true blessing and anyone who thought otherwise was an idiot in Timothy's eyes.

"If you were old enough, I would give you a nice shot of vodka," a deep voice drawled, before a cup of what was probably juice was settled on his table. "You look like shit, Drake."

"Good evening, Jason," Timothy greeted with a small smile as the man took a seat across from him looking immaculate in a clean-cut, black, Armani suit that did well showing off his broad shoulders and arms. "Where's Stephanie?"

"Talking to Guide Prince." Jason jerked his head in the direction of the buffet table and Timothy raised both eyebrows when he noticed the blush that was on Stephanie's cheeks. Crush, maybe? Diana Prince was a rather intimidating woman and he could see why Stephanie wanted to talk to her. He was rather surprised that people could talk to the woman without stuttering. It was actually an amazing feat.

"If she wasn't gunning for Alpha Wayne, then I would ask her for a dance." Jason blessed him with a full-toothed grin that had Timothy rolling his eyes in fond exasperation. "What are you doing here sitting all alone? Where's Richard?"

"He said that he had something to take care of before getting here," Timothy responded, shrugging his shoulders. "I arrived here to finish setting up, and here I am, all alone and pitiful." Timothy pulled his lips into a sensual smile. "Are you here to keep me company?"

Jason returned the smile, his blue eyes taking in Timothy's own form-fitting suit. Richard's Guide was the epitome of fashion, and he constantly put Jason to shame on a good day, which was fine with him to be honest. He was never much of a dresser anyway, preferring a nice pair of pants and a t-shirt over a penguin suit. "It's a shame that he left such a lovely thing like you all by his lonesome. Why don't we-" Jason's eyes suddenly sharpened and he turned to the door, a low curse escaping his lips at the sight. "Your competition's here, little one."

Timothy raised an eyebrow, turning his head and stiffening as his blood ran cold and his stomach dropped at the sight of the person entering. In his hand, he swore he heard the glass crack followed by a second curse escaping Jason's mouth. He would have to remind the man of his etiquette on a later date. He took several deep breaths as Barbara Gordon entered the room with Richard at her side, smiling at the guests who greeted her. She looked beautiful tonight, wearing a deep midnight-blue dress that showed off her curves and her red hair was pinned up in an intricate style that put Stephanie's to shame.

"Was that his little errand?" Jason said quietly, anger clear in his tone. "Picking up Barbara Gordon?" Jason's eyes strayed back to Timothy's and winced at the crack that had appeared in the glass. Guides weren't known for their strength, but Alphas of Timothy's caliber were not to be trifled with and Guide Gordon was going to feel his wrath, indirectly or not. A third curse escaped Jason's mouth when he saw Richard and Timothy lock eyes from across the room and the glass cracked a little bit more than before. Jason wanted to get up, but he was Richard's Beta, and he was damage control, but tonight? He was just trying to avoid an indirect zone-out.

"Dance," Jason blurted out, causing Timothy's cold violet eyes to turn to him, and Jason vehemently denied that a shiver of fear ran down his spine at the look. "We should dance. You owe me a dance, remember?"

Timothy's cold look filtered away, revealing a tired and exhausted young man who was entirely too good and kind-hearted to deal with Richard's crap, and Jason felt a touch of sympathy for Timothy which was enough for Jason to rise and hold out his hand as the music started. "Come on, little one, come dance with me while Diana still has my Guide occupied." Jason wiggled his eyebrows, causing a small smile to appear on Timothy's lips. "I do a mad waltz and tango."

"Okay." Timothy smiled, the motion wider and brighter than it had been all night. "Thanks, Jason."

They would worry about Richard and Barbara later.


	6. The Former Guide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's---It's been a long ass week. Tenebrae's Promise will be up during the weekend. Enjoy the chapter!

He couldn't stop staring. He couldn't stop realizing how good and graceful they looked together as they traveled the room and introduced themselves to other guests. It was supposed to be him by Richard's side, but it was Barbara Gordon that was tucked snugly against Richard's side, smiling under the attention and glowing beneath the chandelier lights of the makeshift auction room. To him, it felt like a slap in the face, and he was positive that the other guests must have realized how much of a snub this was towards Timothy and his family, but they said nothing, watching in sobering silence as the Sentinel and Guide fought it out in public for all to see.

It made Timothy's stomach roll and he buried his face into Jason's broad shoulder as they moved on the dance floor, their movements fluid and drawing the attention of more than one Sentinel-Guide pair. He allowed Jason's protective aura to surround them as the violins increased their tempo and others joined the fray. He pretended not to see Richard and Barbara's eyes on him. He pretended not to feel the satisfaction of Richard's jealousy. He didn't want to feel this way nor did he want to drag Jason into his little spat with Richard, but it seemed like the man was more than willing to play the middle-man. It was one of the reasons why Jason was such a good man. As Beta, and Richard's Second, he never faltered in his duties, and to him, that included seeing to the well-being of Timothy and Stephanie, whether mentally or physically. Seeing how much Jason cared caused Timothy to feel a surge of envy towards Stephanie. He hoped that she knew how lucky she was in having such a kind and caring man.

"You know that there's no comparison, right?" Jason's soft statement startled Timothy and forced him to look into the older man's eyes. "I have no hard feelings towards Barbara Gordon, but she's nothing compared to you, Timothy."

"She's a nice woman," Timothy forced himself to admit. "I can't find much fault in her."

"Oh, there's plenty of fault in that one," Jason stated grimly. "That one is clinging to the past, wishing for something that isn't there anymore. She doesn't realize that her chance has passed."

"It-"

"Don't say that it hasn't passed, because it has, Timmy." Jason gripped his waist in comfort and a well of warmth enveloped Timothy's stomach. "Barbara may be a genius and she may be charismatic and raised in a stable, safe environment, but it doesn't change the fact that she's clinging to scraps and thinking that she has a chance with Richard. That's the sad thing about the situation."

Timothy said nothing at first, staring at the couple over his shoulder, quite surprised to find Richard staring at them unabashedly, visibly ignoring Barbara, who was subtly trying to get his attention again. He wanted to pull away from Jason, but the man tightened his grip on his waist and continued dancing. He should have known better than to step on the dance floor with this man. He should have known better than to forget about Richard's infamous jealousy. But a dark, primal part of him was elated at the fact that he didn't care about Richard's feelings. The man had no trouble bringing another woman—another Guide—and showing her around like they were bonded. It didn't matter that Timothy knew every attending member and had met them on more than one occasion, he still wanted to be by Richard's side. He wanted to be in Barbara's place, and to be denied, to be slapped in the face in such a manner, was a disgrace to not only his relationship with Richard, but his family.

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Jason asked, his voice low against the tempo of violins and cellos. "Do I need to tell you that she's nothing compared to you? A woman tied to the strings of the past."

"No," Timothy responded firmly, turning away from Richard and Barbara and giving Jason his full attention. He deserved it, after all. "Thank you, Jason. You're one of the few reasons I'm sane this evening."

Jason smiled, looking pleased at the comment even as his eyes strayed to Stephanie, who was looking at them with some confusion until her own eyes strayed to Barbara and Richard and a look of understanding crossed over her face. She merely nodded in Jason's direction, a silent thank you in her eyes as she turned back to the council member who had managed to snag her in what was most likely a boring conversation. Not for the first time, Jason was thankful for not having a jealous Guide. On more than one occasion he'd found his fellow Sentinels at the end of a sharp blade thanks to their Guides' jealousy and more than one of them had ended up in cruel zone-outs. It was a harsh method, but what Sentinels did to Guides was ten times worse considering that Guides could be controlled through Sentinel Voice—a method that pulled at Guides' empathy. He didn't want to think about how it was used during the 1800s when Sentinels and Guides were barely recognized as citizens and died on a regular basis.

It was a cruel world for their kind, and it wasn't too far-fetched that a lot of them stuck together. It made sense in a world that could and would kill them at the drop of a hat.

Jason tightened his grip on Timothy's hand at the thought, in awe at how small and fragile it felt in his own callused one. He didn't understand how someone could hurt someone so kind and generous. Timothy was far from a fragile soul, but that didn't mean he deserved the crap he got from Richard, or anyone for that matter.

Jason looked up again, almost startled to find Richard on the dance floor with Barbara, the pair discreetly making their way toward them. This wasn't going to end well for both parties involved. So Jason spun Timothy and proceeded to take them towards Stephanie, who had taken to dancing with Oliver Queen, the Alpha Sentinel of Starling City. The philanthropist and famous playboy. The sight made Jason itch in unpleasant places and he found his feet guiding him in the direction of his Guide when Timothy caught his attention by squeezing his hand.

"What are you doing?" Timothy hissed under his breath, glaring at him from beneath his lashes. "You're literally dragging me all over this dance floor." Timothy looked in the direction in which Jason was taking him and his lips twitched. "Oh. That's why, huh?"

"Shut up," Jason muttered, continuing guiding them towards Stephanie, swerving out of the way of another dancing couple. "They're not the only ones I'm competing against. Look to your right."

Timothy did as he was told and snorted bitterly at the sight. "You know, this would be funny if the situation wasn't so fucking sad."

Jason coughed to cover up his laugh, his lips twitching into a smirk when he caught Richard's enraged eyes again. "Is it alright if I feel sorry for Barbara? She's the one getting dragged along."

"She came and she knew the consequences," Timothy retorted coldly, caring little what the woman thought of the situation and even less about his jealousy towards her. If she wanted to play attached housewife, then by all means, let her try.

"Ouch." Jason snorted, smirking in triumph as they were steps away from approaching Oliver and Stephanie when suddenly Richard and Barbara stepped between them in a flurry of spins and dips.

"Fucking. Really," Jason muttered, jaw clenching and watching as his wonderful Guide was spun away, and he could have sworn he saw a gleam of amusement in Stephanie's eyes. Really, what was with this damned night? It wouldn't be the first nor the last time that he wanted to throttle Richard, whose lips pulled into a rich smirk as he continued swaying with Barbara.

"Good evening, Timothy, Jason."

"Good evening, Alpha Grayson," Jason murmured, but all four of them heard the anger and indignation in it. "How are you liking the auction so far?"

"I like the dancing, food and music, but I have yet to judge the auction." Richard turned his attention to Timothy, who found the stage where the auctioneer was setting up very interesting. "Timothy."

Timothy kept his eyes on the stage, wondering if the man was going to put up some art—his mother would love a piece.

"Timothy," Richard practically snarled, causing the tension between all four of them to increase almost ten fold. "I know you heard me, Timothy."

"My apologies, Alpha," Timothy murmured, turning his eyes back to Richard, whose cheeks were flushed with growing anger. It was nothing new. "I was distracted."

"By what, if you don't mind me asking?" Richard brought himself closer, narrowing his eyes as his nose caught the scent of his Second on his Guide's skin. It made his stomach roll.

"The stage," Timothy elaborated carefully, knowing he was treading on thin ice at this point. No matter how angry he was at Richard, it wouldn't do for other Alpha Sentinels to see the fact that the man could barely hold in his temper.

"...the stage?" Barbara Gordon's light voice spoke up in skepticism. "You know that's not such a good lie, Guide Drake."

Timothy's lips thinned and his eyes narrowed, staring at Barbara, who met him with a stare of her own, one that was full of amusement. He huffed, before turning away and guiding Jason back towards Oliver and Stephanie, catching them off guard when he brushed up against them.

"Switch," Timothy commanded, releasing himself from Jason's grip. Stephanie—thankfully—understood and gracefully switched with Jason, who looked proud as a peach before swinging his Guide away with a dazed look of content.

"Well," Oliver purred, his green eyes gleaming as he wiggled his eyebrows. "This is a surprise—ow, ow, ow, watch the foot, Timmy."

Timothy removed his leather loafer from Oliver's larger foot, smiling thinly as Oliver politely took him into his arms and started the dance again. Properly.

"So," Oliver began lightly, lifting his eyes and seeing that Richard was staring at them rather coldly. Whew. The temperature just dropped. A lot. "What's up with him?"

"Nothing. Just keep dancing."

Oliver closed his eyes, counting to ten before resuming their swaying. Kids these days, honestly. Oh, well, at least he got a sweet little thing out of the deal—Oliver winced, feeling Timothy step on his foot again as if reading his thoughts.

He wanted Dinah.

000000000000000

Jealousy ran hot in the Grayson Family—Richard had no shame in admitting that. His father always got jealous when his mother was hit on or flirted with by an unassuming man or polite Alpha Sentinel from another city, and the man was always dealt with swiftly and quietly. However, Richard always thought that being jealous was a sign of insecurity, a sign that one couldn't control one's emotions. He was even bold enough to call out his father those times he was too overprotective of his mother during his teenage years.

He would have to call and apologize. Soon.

Barbara Gordon was a long-time friend, and he'd known her since he was a teenager, even longer than he'd known Timothy, and he'd thought it would be nice to have her along. Of course she had an acceptable social life, but he had missed her and wanted to drag her along. He should have known better when things were still so sour between him and Timothy. He should have known that the smaller man would take offense to him bringing Barbara instead of arriving together. It was proper etiquette to be seen with one's Guide during parties such as these, but Richard had broken the rule in favor of Barbara having a good time. He swiftly decided that this was a mistake as soon as he saw Jason dancing with Timothy followed by Oliver.

It had been strange, the jealousy he felt welling up at the situation. He had seen Jason dance with Timothy plenty of times and he had seen him dance with Oliver a number of times for the Alpha's birthday and anniversary. So, why did it feel so wrong now?

"Are you alright?" Barbara's soft voice asked, and Richard's nose twitched at the subtle smell of lavender that invaded his senses as she pressed against his arm. Wrong. It felt wrong. It wasn't Timothy's smell. It wasn't the smell of winter that Timothy seemed to exude even in the summer. It made his skin itch and his senses irritable, but he smiled tightly, nodding his head as the auctioneer approached the stage, greeting them with a smile. He opened his mouth to comment when that very same smell of winter wafted past his nose and he turned his head to see Timothy take a seat next to him, giving him a blank look.

"I didn't expect you to join me," Richard murmured, giving Barbara a pat on the hand before turning his full attention to Timothy, who was staring ahead. "Got tired of dancing with Jason and Oliver?"

"Dude, I'm right here, what the hell?" Jason's indignant murmur came from the seat behind him. "Fucking rude, honestly. I'm telling Mama Grayson."

Richard ignored him.

"I've been ignoring you all night," Timothy began, sighing softly. "It's improper to ignore one's Sentinel all night long, you know? Oliver gave me a bit of chastising for it on our second dance, which, of course, he should have been giving you." Timothy waved the bidder fan, wafting his scent into Richard's deprived nose. "But don't worry, I'm sure Mama Grayson will be giving you that once she visits."

"I didn't realize my Guide and Second were a bunch of snitches," Richard bit out, his jaw clenching. He knew the wrath of his mother and it wasn't a pleasant sight to behold and he was a grown ass man.

"We love you, Richard, but we're telling on you and doing it with all the joy one can imagine." Jason snickered, coughing when Stephanie pressed her elbow into his side firmly. "Sorry."

Richard shook his head, a smile causing his lips to twitch. The sour mood that was so prevalent was gone in the mixture of soft laughter and vague threats. He had the strangest set of loved ones.

"Ladies and Gentlemen!" the auctioneer spoke up, causing the crowd to still. "I thank all Alpha Sentinels and Guides for coming tonight to our 65th Annual Auction dedicated to the research of Sentinels and Guides. As you all know, all proceeds will go towards the Blair Sandburg Foundation. Now," the auctioneer turned to a set of short swords that had even Timothy leaning forward in interest. "We have a rather famous pair of short swords donated by the Al Ghul Family, who couldn't be with us tonight. Shall we start the bidding at 200,000?"

Timothy raised his bidding fan and winced when Barbara did the same. He leaned forward, his eyebrows raised. "I didn't know you were interested in weapons, Guide Gordon."

"It's a gift for Richard." Barbara raised her fan again when the cost rose to two-fifty. "It's the least I can do since he brought me out tonight."

Timothy's hand twitched and he raised the fan before calling out. "350."

"Timmy," Stephanie called out, flustered at the amount.

"Holy. Shit," Jason murmured.

"375," Barbara called coolly, raising her fan with a small smile.

"We have 375! Do I have 400?"

"450," Timothy called out smoothly, smirking when Barbara faltered. She didn't realize that he would go that high? Too bad.

"450! Do I have 500?"

"Let her have it," Richard commanded softly. "It would do her no harm-"

"550," Timothy called out again, his voice taking on a colder tone, almost aristocratic. "I want them. It's as simple as that, Richard."

"550!" the auctioneer looked around, smiling when silence was met. "Very well! 550,000 going once, twice, sold to Timothy Drake, Alpha Guide of New York."

Timothy lowered his fan before using it to smack Richard on the hand like a bad puppy. "If she wants the short swords that badly, then she can have them, but do you think a Guide would want them after such an insult?"

"You don't need them, Timothy. You have a collection," Richard bit out, sore that he had been smacked. "And they were to be a gift-"

"Those swords have been in the Al Ghul Family for untold generations and it means a lot to them to be giving them away. You know her son, Damian, was just revealed as a Sentinel? An Alpha no doubt."

Richard blinked before his face became blank at the thought of Damian Al Ghul, or Wayne as it was rumored. If he really was Bruce Wayne's son, then it wouldn't be too far-fetched for the young boy to become an Alpha. After all, the Wayne family bred Alphas like they was going out of style.

"So you decided that you would contribute for Damian? That's generous of you."

"No, you misunderstand me, Richard," Timothy corrected gently. "If we understand Sentinel and Guide abilities better, then we can soften the blow to those who are unable to find their Guides instead of letting them suffer a slow death. Should Damian never find his Guide or never choose one, then Gotham—should he inherit it—won't suffer and we won't suffer because of the relationship and eventual misuse of power and resources."

Richard raised both eyebrows, impressed that Timothy thought that far into the future even if Damian's birth was based on rumors and speculation. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for his Guide followed immediately by a flash of guilt. As much as he loved Barbara as a dear friend, he should have taken Timothy to the auction and danced with him. He shouldn't have acted so sour and jealous towards him at all. Their bonding wasn't what Richard wanted, but over time, he had come to care for Timothy and he had no doubt that care would turn into love. It wasn't hard to love him at all, seeing as he had so many friends and family who did it as easy as breathing. But, if that was the case, then why was it so hard for him? Why did his heart beat so fast against his chest at the thought of marrying Timothy? It wasn't that he was disgusted, but could it be because he was frightened? Frightened that he would fall too deeply? It had happened with Barbara, and he'd felt his heart shatter the moment he'd learned he was compatible with Timothy, so, maybe that was the problem?

A hand touched his arm and he turned to see Timothy staring up at him with those violet eyes, the very eyes that he cared about and was falling in love with. It was those eyes that caused peace to enter his mind and silence his thoughts. He reached forward and intertwined his fingers with his Guide's, smiling when the action earned a small blush.

"Are you alright? You haven't said anything in a while."

Richard's lips twitched at the question. How do you tell your Guide that he consumed your every thought? That you were frightened of being in love with him? He knew that Timothy would accept him and would welcome the admission, but his instincts reined him in. Not yet.

"I'm fine." Richard patted Timothy's hand and turned back to the auctioneer, ignoring the hurt expression that most likely crossed Timothy's features. He needed time was all. All he needed was time.

If that was the case, then why didn't he believe it?


	7. Nightwing's Flight

Timothy's eyes narrowed behind his glasses, blinking as if he couldn't believe what he'd just seen. He leaned back against the chair, placing a hand against his mouth as the sounds of the gunshots ricocheted against the crates at the docks. It was almost as if Nightwing had deliberately caught their attention even though that was not the plan they had come up with the previous night. As far as he was concerned, this wasn't a part of the plan. Timothy took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes and placing them back on his face before turning his attention back to Nightwing, who was still under rapid fire.

"What happened?" Timothy demanded sharply. "The plan was to sneak up on them. Not to engage. I'm pretty damn sure you know what that word means."

"They had a little more man power than we anticipated," Nightwing snapped, obviously frustrated with their current situation. "Don't blame this on me. In fact, isn't it your job to check the information? Make sure that it's accurate?"

"You are not blaming this on me. You are not," Timothy hissed, a flush of displeasure adding color to his pale cheeks. "You're the one who ran out there like a fucking idiot. What's the matter with you? You've been messing up all night."

"Well, excuse me for putting my fucking life on the line instead of sitting behind a computer and commanding me around like a damned puppet. You're not out here, Oracle. You're not putting your damned life on the line."

Timothy flinched at the harsh words, his lips thinning and his hand twitching at the thought of turning off communications and letting Nightwing wallow in silence while he finished the operation alone. But it was not in Timothy's programming to leave people out in the cold.

"Look," Timothy spoke again through clenched teeth. "Whatever happened in the last twenty-four to forty-eight hours obviously affected you and your work ethic and you and I both know how dangerous it is for our personal lives to bleed onto the field. So, Nightwing, I'm begging you to relax and get out of the situation you are in now, okay? The plan was not to engage, but we don't have a choice. To your left there should be an entrance to the building. Get in and circle around and take them out as a quietly and quickly as possible."

"Right. Right."

Timothy watched with bated breath as Nightwing's signal moved in the suggested direction and it only took minutes for the man to take out six gunmen. The silence that followed was deafening, and Timothy bit his lip, letting out a sigh of relief when Nightwing's voice emerged again, slightly out of breath.

"Targets incapacitated. Proceeding with operation."

Timothy closed his eyes and banged his head on the console lightly, a weak smile pulling at his dry lips. His head, back, and eyes hurt, but he ignored the pain and took a deep, shuddering breath, counting backwards from ten before releasing a slow breath and repeating the process.

"Good," Timothy breathed. "Proceed with caution."

"Bad night?"

Timothy's eye twitched at the stupidity of the statement before taking another deep breath to calm his nerves and strengthen his shields. "Bad couple of nights to be honest."

"Oh?" Nightwing inquired from the other side of the line, his tone on the edge of playful, a far contrast from earlier. "Trouble on the home front?"

Timothy resisted the urge to sigh rather heavily at the statement. On more than one occasion he had been on the end of a rather scathing statement from Richard about the auction and his treatment of Barbara Gordon, and after the sixth time, Timothy swiftly cut Richard off, giving the man more than a piece of his mind, which led to their current cold war.

He wasn't the one who invited another Guide and showed her off like some prize.

He wasn't the one who ignored him and blatantly disrespected him in front of dozens of influential Sentinels and Guides.

He wasn't the one who couldn't keep his temper in check.

He wasn't the one who was a fucking jackass.

Timothy snarled, clenching the arm rests of his seat, and took another deep breath. He would need to meditate when this was all said and done. His shields were weakening and his empathy was doing more damage than good. It was only when he realized how silent Nightwing had become that Timothy realized he had snarled through his headset and given Nightwing the answer he needed.

Oh.

"I'm- I apologize," Timothy was quick to say, his cheeks heating and quickly on the way on becoming flustered. "That-that wasn't aimed towards you, Nightwing."

"...I should hope not," Nightwing's wary voice came back, but Timothy didn't miss the amusement. "Should I apologize for my little fuck up? Excuse the language, by the way."

"No," Timothy decided, exhausted at the thought of Nightwing going through whatever excuse that was willing and waiting for him to hear. "Don't bother with it. We're both having bad nights. Let's just continue with the operation, shall we? According to the information I gathered, Penguin decided to pay us a small visit and he brought a small weapons cache as his luggage. Our objective is to secure the cache and destroy it."

"We're not handing it over to the police?"

"No, as far as the police are concerned, I don't trust them with Penguin's merchandise, and I wouldn't put it past Gotham's infamous villains to have their fingers dipped into the NYPD as well."

"So you think our police force has rats?"

"Gotham has them, so, why not us?" Timothy questioned with a hollow chuckle. "Two-Face, Penguin, Riddler. I wouldn't put it past them to have people all over the East Coast working for them."

"Doesn't the Second take care of spies?" Nightwing questioned. "If he's letting these spies in, then I doubt that he's doing his job."

Timothy felt a trickle of anger at the insult towards Jason's and his work. "I doubt it, but I wouldn't put it past Sentinel Todd to allow these informants to remain just to glean information off them. It's a genius idea when one thinks about it."

"Is it?" Nightwing questioned. "It's a great risk to not only the officers and normal staff working at the station, but the families connected to said officers. Gotham's countless shakedowns of the GPD more than proves my point."

"Sentinel Todd has placed protection on the families. He understands the consequences of his actions." Timothy took a shuddering breath at his own words. In truth, it was his fault for keeping the informants within the NYPD. It was one of his sources, and Jason was all too happy to supply Oracle with the needed information. Anything to keep New York safe.

"You sound offended," Nightwing murmured, his tone playful, but Timothy didn't miss the wariness colored within it. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that you were pretty devoted to Jason Todd and Richard Grayson."

"They're good men." Timothy's tongue felt heavy at the half-lie—at least one of them was a good man. "They do right by this city and it would be wise for you to think the same-"

"Oh, like some brainless drone?" Nightwing cut in crudely. "I'll obey the Alpha Sentinel and his Second. I'll do anything for them."

Timothy leaned back, his lips pursing at the crude joke, and let his silence do the work of showing his disapproval. Although he and Richard were at odds, he wasn't one to take people insulting him behind his back, but for once, just this once, he would let it slide. Of course, he could continue to berate the man for insulting the Alpha Sentinel, but the thought of sounding like a brainless devotee wasn't exactly appealing to him at the moment.

"You're being an asshole tonight," Timothy chided firmly, watching as Nightwing's signal flickered across the screen—he was getting closer. "You should stop, I'm getting a headache and my mood isn't the best."

"My mood isn't the best either," Nightwing shot back, and Timothy watched with morbid curiosity as Nightwing's heart rate kicked up a notch at the statement. "My night's been crap so far-"

"And whose, I might ask, fault is that, sweetling?" Timothy drawled sarcastically. "First, you compromise the operation, and second, you go about insulting people whom I'm pretty sure haven't done anything to you-"

"How do you know?" Nightwing murmured, forcing Timothy to look at the screen to see that Nightwing had stopped his assault on the building. "How do you know that those people have done nothing to me? That their lives haven't affected mine?"

Timothy stilled at the question, his heart racing against his chest. His lips whitened and he leaned back against his chair, startled at the question, and for the first time, had no clue how to go about it.

"Surprised," Nightwing remarked, a smile in his voice. "Don't tell me that I've made Oracle speechless?"

"No," Timothy murmured, his hands shaking on the keyboard. After a year of working together, could it be possible that he'd misjudged Nightwing? Irreparably so?

"No," Timothy spoke up again, his voice gaining strength. "You once told me that this was your home, right? And that was the reason you were defending it? The thought of a man like you-"

"You sound frightened," Nightwing cut him off softly, and Timothy blinked, straining his ears to hear the regret in the vigilante's voice, but that couldn't be right. "You sound frightened of me now. I didn't want such a thing."

"I'm not-"

"I'm a Sentinel," Nightwing cut him off again. "It doesn't matter if your voice is synthesized, emotions bleed through even the best of scrambling equipment." Nightwing was silent for a moment. "I apologize."

"What did they do?" Timothy asked, grateful that his heart was returning to its normal rate and his breath was no longer shaking. The air around them had calmed and Timothy was grateful. "What did Alpha Grayson and Jason Todd do to make you feel like this?"

"I could tell you. I could tell you that actions have widespread consequences, but what difference would that make? Of course, it would make you understand me a margin better than the night before, but is that fact going to make you look at me differently?"

"No, of course not." Timothy found himself surprised at his honest response. "It doesn't change anything, but it does allow me to see that you have a little more validation towards this mission."

"I had a chance to be happy," Nightwing began. "A long time ago, but you know how stories like that end up, right? The man gets the woman and they live happily ever after, right? But it didn't end up that way for me. I didn't get the Guide I wanted and was placed with another one who turned out just as unhappy as I am. We don't like each other very well because of it. But I'm starting to realize that none of this is our fault. We didn't choose each other, fate did and nothing more."

"So it was Alpha Grayson who forced the Guide on you?" Timothy felt his stomach drop, finding a comrade in Nightwing. He, too, was unhappy with his own Sentinel. "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a Guide, but when you told me that it was Alpha Grayson that you didn't like-"

"When I told you I didn't like Alpha Grayson, I didn't tell you which Alpha Grayson I didn't like. Also, I don't specifically have a Guide, not one with our relationship established. You have to pay attention to more detail, Oracle. You're my partner."

Partner.

Right.

"Still, I'm sorry about how all of that turned out. But know that you aren't the only one suffering because of a mismatched pairing between a Guide and Sentinel. I'm just glad that your mission isn't mixed with anger towards the people who want this city to be safe and well."

"That's right. This isn't some grand act of vengeance. I'm just trying to make my home safe and sound. So, I have my reasons for disliking Alpha Grayson. Let's leave it at that, alright? Or are you not able to do that?"

"I can do that," Timothy responded.

"Good, proceeding with the operation."

Timothy clicked the end of his connection off, before taking a deep shuddering breath and staring up at the dark ceiling. The emotions running through his body were the exact same as last year: troubled, sad, angry, and protective. He was protective of Nightwing whether the man wanted it or not. His mind drifted to the unnamed Guide and Timothy felt a rush of pity and protectiveness towards him or her as well. No need to hate a person who wasn't at fault either. It was funny, he supposed. He became Oracle to protect the people of New York from crime and the misuse of Sentinel and Guide rights, and yet he couldn't do a damn thing about the one closet to him, but as Timothy Drake he could. He could change laws and people's minds with a few right words and actions and hopefully, one day, he could do the the same as Oracle.

One day.


	8. An Alpha Sentinel and Guide

"You look like utter crap, Grayson."

Richard looked up, blinking when he saw Jason standing in the doorway of his office, his smile brittle and his eyes examining him with the sharpness of a wolf. He smiled, leaning back against his chair and placing his pen on the desk as Jason stepped in and closed the door behind him, locking it with a finality that Richard knew meant he was in for a long and honestly brutal talk.

He wasn't looking forward to it.

"Thank you for your sincere honesty, Sentinel Todd, but I must ask why you're here?" Richard rubbed his fist against his eyes, blinking back his exhaustion. It had been a long night and the last thing he wanted to do was talk to Jason and hear him scold him on his treatment of Timothy. He was well aware of how he treated his Guide, and his guilt took the form of the half empty bottle of scotch sitting in his office drawer. Then again, his nights crawling around the city as Nightwing made him want to place the bottle of whiskey Bruce had given him in the second drawer to make the nights go a little smoother, but alcoholism never solved problems.

"I can't come and see my best friend?" Jason drawled, taking the seat situated in front of Richard's desk and propping his feet on the paper covered desk. "I mean, how long has it been since we sat down and had a little chat?"

"Three days ago," Richard responded dryly, his lips twitching when Jason gave him a befuddled look at the answer before staring up at the sky and most likely thinking that it was indeed three days ago since they last spoke. "Seriously, what can I do for you?"

"What can you do for me? Well, you can stop acting like an asshole to Timothy. That, my friend, is something you can do for me." Jason smirked when Richard tensed at the request-demand. Jason waited a pause before continuing, his tone somber compared to his earlier teasing. "Look, the way you brought Barbara in was like a slap to Timothy's face, man, and I know that she's your best friend and you wanted to show her a good time, but Timothy should have been your first thought. You're not a bachelor anymore, Richard, you just can't-"

"People are aware of my relationship to Barbara," Richard cut in swiftly, wanting to end this discussion, but with Jason's stubbornness, that wasn't going to happen. "They know we're friends-"

"They know that you were almost bonded," Jason cut in gently. "They know that your relationship with her is better than the one with your Guide. Seriously, what kind of crap is that, Dick?"

"I'm not doing it on purpose," Richard protested, feeling like a scolded child. He was far from it. He wondered if this was how Timothy felt when he scolded him? Made him feel like utter shit?

"It makes me wonder if you are doing it on purpose, Dick," Jason stated, his eyes softening in the face of Richard's growing agitation. "How do you think Timothy felt when he saw you with Barbara? How hurt do you think he felt that he saw his Sentinel dancing with another Guide? Another Guide who is particularly known to be the so called perfect match for you? The Guide who is, by the way, still in love with you?"

"I-"

"It wouldn't be so good if Sentinel Kent went after him, would it? Conner is a good boy and he'll take good care of him. Also, the rumors about him being-"

"Enough. Stop it." Richard held back a snarl, wanting to launch himself across the desk and deck his Second in the mouth. He took a deep breath, leaning further back against the chair, cracking his neck to relieve the mild tension that had built up along his shoulders and neck. "You need to stop goading me, Jason."

"I'm not goading you, Richard. I'm merely trying to force you to realize what an asshole you've been towards Timothy. For God's sake, Richard, grow a pair and actually try to get along with him. He's an intelligent, kind-hearted person and he doesn't deserve the crap that you put him through. If it was possible, I would would take him on as a proxy." Jason took a deep breath, his eyes shuttering at the thought. "Take responsibility or I and Stephanie will do it for you."

"You've talked about this with her?" Richard murmured, and Jason was well aware of the dangerous tone his voice took on. Jason knew that he was going to have to tread lightly. Very lightly.

"Stephanie and I talk about a lot of things," Jason responded. "Things you need to know about and others that are too personal for your ears." Jason rose from his seat, cracking his neck and back, a yawn escaping his lips. He knocked on Richard's desk twice before turning on his heel and heading towards the door. "Think about what I said, Richard, and don't take too long to do it, eh? Timothy's not the one to take too much abuse."

"I'll keep that in mind and Jason?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

Jason shrugged, grunting as he shut the door firmly, leaving Richard with silence and his spiraling thoughts. He never expected Jason of all people to jump on him about his behavior towards Timothy, but then again, the two of them were close, but never did he think they were close enough for Jason to consider taking his Guide as a proxy nor for Stephanie to agree to such a notion.

It wasn't often, but a Sentinel could take on two Guides—a bonded and a proxy—as a charity case if it was a distant relative or a friend who was in the throes of grief thanks to the death of their Sentinel. But there was no death, nor would there be any grieving. There was only the remnant of a broken bond—a failed bond.

Richard clenched his hands before burying his face in them, taking a deep breath as his thoughts raced. A world without Timothy? They didn't spend much time together, but Richard couldn't imagine his world without his stubborn and manipulative Guide. Despite the arguments, cold shoulders, and outright insults, Richard couldn't find it in himself to let Timothy go. This is where the younger man belonged. Here in New York, at Richard's side, and if Jason's words rang true, then he really did have to start making it up to Timothy. The question was how?

He had no problem serenading women and men when he was younger, so, what was the problem now? What made Timothy Jackson Drake so special? Sure, he was intelligent, beautiful, graceful, funny, and he had a smile and legs that ran-

Richard stopped, groaned, and banged his head on the desk, closing his eyes in absolute agony before a rather bitter smile graced his lips. He supposed that after the way he had been acting that this was some kind of divine karma.

It figured that he would be blind and not realize that he was falling in love with Timothy.

000000000000000

The blades once belonging to the Al Ghul Family sat on the fireplace mantle, and it served as a mockery to Timothy's behavior. Anyone else would have locked them away and suppressed the memory, but he had always been a bit of a masochist. So, he allowed them to sit and collect dust knowing the money would be used to further Sentinel and Guide research and eventually allow Sentinels and Guides to live in peace. While the endeavor was good, that didn't negate the fact that he felt like utter trash for the way he treated Barbara.

Even though she deserved it two-fold.

He knew better, but his jealousy took over and he wanted nothing more than to humiliate her in the worst way possible, and the only way he could think of was to out-bid her and snub her generosity towards Richard. He admitted, with reluctance, that he enjoyed it. Enjoyed watching her crumble and forcing her to realize that she would never get what belonged to him. Belonged to New York.

But did Richard really belong to him? In truth, neither had made much effort to get to know one another. They were practically thrown together because their compatibility was the highest since Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. In the cultural sense, they were meant to be together, but logically, emotionally, and physically? It was dead, silent, and Timothy didn't see a way to repair it at this point. He felt like he was fighting a losing battle. He felt like he was constantly running and seeing no end in sight, and it hurt. It was hurting more than Timothy realized. It hurt that he hadn't seen Richard's real smile in months. It hurt that every time they met, they argued and fought like wolves. It hurt that Richard would never look at him like he looked at Barbara.

It hurt that he was nothing but a simple replacement.

Timothy gritted his teeth and wiped away his stray tears before getting up and pacing the room like a caged tiger, his jaw clenched, and shoulders tensed. He finally stopped in front of the fireplace where the blades sat, looking up at them before turning away, a flush of shame coloring his cheeks. He was constantly blaming Richard for the status of their relationship, when, in truth, he was just as much to blame for it. He didn't attempt to calm the rage between them both after their arguments. He didn't attempt to make up when they wouldn't speak for weeks on end. One thing about relationships was that both parties had to give, it had to be a balance, and realizing it didn't make him feel better, but the heaviness in his chest was finally gone.

He would make it a plan to make it up to Richard and try to approach the man differently. Although Richard didn't seem the cuddly type, he had displayed rare moments of kindness that Timothy remembered as clear as day and he wanted to see them again.

Even if he had to take the first step. That first leap.

A knock on the door forced Timothy's self-depreciating thoughts away as he moved to answer it, internally in no mood for visitors. He was expecting his elderly neighbor asking for a cup of sugar for her cookies, he was expecting his younger neighbor asking for help on his photography, but Timothy wasn't prepared for the scent of roses to waft into his nose and Richard's breathtaking smile to greet him on the other side of the door.

"Um." Timothy blinked slowly as if to make sure that this wasn't a dream. After a long pause, he was mortified to realize that the roses and Richard were still standing in his door and that breathtaking smile that Richard always bore was long gone, replaced by a frown of concern.

"You don't like them?" Richard tilted his head down at the bouquet of roses as if they were the cause of his problems. "I... remember you being fond of them when we first met."

"I am," Timothy responded, not knowing what else to do in this rather strange situation. He stepped back, allowing Richard entrance, flushing again when Richard turned in the direction of the blades. "Um-"

"Do you want to go out?" Richard blurted as if he was forcing himself to say the words and Timothy didn't know why, but the thought warmed his heart. His lips pulled into a soft smile and he held out a hand in the direction of the couch.

"You brought me roses and offered to take me out, Richard Grayson. I'm going to take it that Jason paid you a visit?" Timothy shook his head, throwing off Richard's protests. "Why don't we have a seat? Clear the air? We've been needing to do that for a while."

Timothy's soft smile shifted into one of fondness when Richard sat on the couch, the roses still clutched in his gloved hand, looking unsure as to what to do next. Timothy joined him on the couch, placing a hand over Richard's tight one, watching with careful eyes as Richard relaxed under his touch and forcing him back to his earlier thoughts. They would fix this, of this he was sure, and instead of that first leap that Timothy thought he would have to take alone, he knew now that he didn't have to take it alone.

No, they would take it together.


	9. The Parents

"You went out on a date?" Stephanie leaned closer, her blue eyes curious as she took in the roses sitting in a vase near the kitchen window. "Wow. I never thought I would hear those words come out of your mouth."

"It wasn't that bad," Timothy murmured, shuffling through the papers of complaints filed by numerous Guides that came in the form of spousal, drug, and sensory abuse. Handling these cases on the civilian side always took a lot more of him than it did as Oracle. Not only because the disciplinary process took longer, but the punishments were a mere slap on the wrist. The Sentinels didn't go to jail, but were merely placed in rehabilitation centers where their senses could be taken care of and they could receive counseling. It was hardly fair to the Guides who needed more than to be rehabilitated and were forced to endure whispers behind their backs for not only turning in their Sentinel, but depriving themselves of a bond-mate for the immediate future.

To Timothy, the process was flawed and one of the main reasons why he donated so much of his inheritance and earned money to the cause of Sentinel and Guide research. If they could figure out a way for Sentinels and Guides to survive without one another for longer periods of time, then such cases like spousal and sensory abuse would dwindle. He wasn't naive enough to believe that it would never disappear, but he was sensible enough that the numbers could be lowered. It was never good to listen to news reports state that abuse between Sentinels and Guides was up over forty percent and up sixty since Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg's time. His ancestor worked hard to give Guides equal rights and Timothy couldn't and wouldn't let him down.

"It's not that bad?" Stephanie repeated, her tone incredulous. "What's bad is the fact that I don't remember the last time you two actually went on a date. God forbid that you count that auction. That was a fuckery in its purest form."

"That was my-"

"Don't. Don't say it was your fault, Timothy," Stephanie cut in, her voice sharp as glass. "Richard was the one who brought Barbara Freaking Gordon to an auction that was meant to help advance Sentinel and Guide research—something that you fully support, by the way—and he just brings her along as if your feelings don't matter at all." Stephanie shook her head, her blue eyes dim. "It's an insult to you and your relationship, Timothy, and it proves that he doesn't exactly regard your feelings in the matter." She held up her hand when he opened his mouth to protest. "But the fact that he came over and even asked you on a date makes me realize that he didn't exactly realize what an asshole he's been towards you and that's even more worrying. So, no, it is that bad."

"You really know how to put a dramatic twist on things don't you?"

"That I do, but despite what a massive asshole he's been, I'm glad that he's at least taking the steps needed to improve your relationship and you're doing the same, right? You might have not been a large part of the problem, but you did contribute to it by not communicating and not having the balls to bring Richard down a peg." Stephanie nodded her head in the direction of the blades sitting on the mantle of the fireplace. "Those served as a catalyst as well."

"I wanted them-"

"No." Stephanie held up a hand, struggling not to smile in the face of Timothy's denial. "You wanted them because she wanted them. Sure, you were eventually going to buy something to donate, but the moment she raised her hand, you knew you were going for it. Admit it." She leaned closer, smirking in the face of his embarrassed flush. "Admit. It."

"So what if I did?" Timothy sniped, folding his arms and turning away from her smug expression. "She's not a bad person, but she knew who Richard belonged to and she knows the etiquette of Guides towards their Sentinels. What if I went all boytoy and tried to steal her father? She wouldn't like that, would she?"

"Ew." Stephanie grimaced, but deep inside, she could fully believe that Timothy could successfully pull something off. Still, ew. Just ew. "That man is old enough to be your father."

"So is Bruce Wayne, but that doesn't stop Guide Al Ghul and Guide Prince now, does it?"

"No," she murmured, an interested light entering her eyes at the thought. Guide Al Ghul and Prince had been vying for Sentinel Wayne's attention for years and it was one of the most exciting soap operas she'd ever had the pleasure of seeing, and she hoped that it got better considering that it was heavily rumored Talia Al Ghul was part of an assassin's guild. A fact she strongly believed considering the woman was a ninja who had snuck up on her on more than one occasion.

Frankly, the woman scared the shit out of her, and she'd had the pleasure of meeting Batman and Superman. At the same time.

"Look, you're not going to be seducing Commissioner Gordon and you're going to leave Barbara Gordon alone. She doesn't matter, but what does matter is the fact you and Richard are in the process of making up to one another. So, why don't you concentrate on that for the time being?"

Timothy huffed, staring at the woman in amusement. He hated it when she was right. She made it a point to make sure that he stayed on the right path, and while Timothy was grateful for it, he honestly didn't know what he'd do without her.

"Where did he take you, by the way?" Stephanie inquired, bouncing up from the couch and was about to head to the kitchen when the doorbell rang, causing her to shoot Timothy a curious look. "Expecting anyone?"

"No," Timothy responded, rising up from the couch, moving towards the door and opening it up a creak, his face slacking in surprise when he recognized the visitors.

"Mom? Dad?"

"Timothy." Janet Drake stepped in, pulling her son into her arms and pressing a kiss against his forehead and cheeks before his father took a turn, simply pressing a kiss against his forehead before trailing after his wife, his eyes taking in the apartment.

"Stephanie," Janet greeted, taking the younger woman into her arms and swaying them back and forth. "You look so sweet, darling, and you're getting bigger, height wise, of course."

"Thanks, Mama." Stephanie grinned, staring at Timothy from over his mother's shoulder. "What are you two doing here?"

"We can't come and visit our kids?" Jack questioned, narrowing his blue eyes in suspicion before they scanned the apartment again, finally landing on the pair of short swords sitting on the fireplace. "Still interested in weapons?"

"Hmm?" Janet removed herself from Stephanie's arms, walking over to the fireplace and letting out another hum of interest as she picked them up and examined them with a critical eye. "17th century from the looks of it, and this symbol." She took a look at the bottom of the hilt, her lips thinning. "Al Ghul Family, you must have went to that auction? The one with a lot of attention?"

"You mean the one where the troublemaker took Barbara?" Jack grumbled, and Timothy didn't need to explain his actions to his father, but his mother was another story. Janet was the woman who preferred to have her problems solved behind closed doors and was never one to have her problems displayed to the public, much to his father's relief. "I'm guessing that's the reason why you bought the short swords? For an absurd amount of money?"

"It is Timothy's money, sweetheart." Janet was still examining the short shorts, an interested light entering her eyes. "However, I do disagree with the method of actually obtaining these beautiful artifacts." Janet glanced at her son from over her shoulder before setting the short swords back onto the fireplace. "Barbara Gordon is a child and you needn't worry about her feelings towards Richard."

Timothy's lips thinned at the chiding, sharing a look with Stephanie, who gave him a worried one in return. "Guide Gordon isn't a problem," Timothy stated, after a slight pause. "I think she got the message about how I feel towards her actions. Surely, you didn't come all the way here to scold me about that little incident? I got enough of that from Stephanie and Richard. I'm just waiting on Jason now."

"No, we came to see how you were doing, darling." Janet approached him again, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing it when she felt his irritation. She always felt her shields crack a little when she was around her son, considering the fact that he was born an Alpha and she a Beta. Even as a child, he'd had powerful empathy that rendered some of his classmates unconscious at one point, which led them to enrolling him in the Sandburg Guide Academy. Considering that they were both descendants of Jim Ellison, it did help Timothy along the way, since some of Blair Sandburg's descendants—through surrogacy—were attending as well. It felt like one big family, and even today, Timothy visited the Academy to offer help and to donate, and it did her proud that her son never forgot his roots nor his blood. She was proud that he didn't take Richard's actions sitting down.

But, she wondered, with a wounded heart, how long would it take before he broke down and destroyed the bond. She worried for the mental stability of her son, and at times, Richard as well.

The fact that he masqueraded as Oracle didn't help either.

"Jack, Stephanie? Why don't you two go get us something to eat? I'm sure that neither one of these two are willing to cook this morning."

"Mom?" Timothy raised an eyebrow at the order, but watched as his father and Second got ready to embrace the cold again. He knew from their determined movements that they wouldn't take no for an answer. It wasn't often that his mother sent his father or Stephanie away if they had a chance to visit, which meant that she more than sensed his discord, his stress and outright despair, and it caused his mother's shields—which were almost impenetrable—to crack.

"Pancakes?" Stephanie asked, receiving twin nods before she guided Jack out the door, leaving Janet and Timothy to themselves and a suddenly stifling silence.

"Mom—?"

"How are you, love?" Janet interrupted softly, her eyes catching his eyes from her position at the fireplace. "Hard at work, I hope?"

Timothy stifled a sigh, taking a seat on the couch. "Thing are going...as well as they should. Things are improving between me and Richard if that's what you're really asking."

"It is," Janet admitted, taking a seat beside him and placing an arm around his shoulders. "But that does not explain why my son is giving off waves of anger, sadness and stress. If it weren't for my years of training, then my shields would have broken the moment I stepped into the room, and if weren't for the training Stephanie has from me and as an upcoming doctor, then her shields would have shattered as well. Now, come, tell me what's wrong?"

Timothy swallowed, leaning against his mother's shoulder. "I want to believe him, mom, but after all he's done, how can I? I feel that he wants to do better, but how many mistakes can one man possibly make?"

Janet snorted, her shoulders jerking with the movement. "Men make a lot of mistakes, no offense to you, sweetheart. There will be times when you just want to toss in the towel and walk away, but I think you're too much in love with Richard to back out now, right?"

"Right," Timothy muttered, disgruntled at the truth of the statement. "I feel like I'm in a high school relationship."

"It's not that bad." Janet suppressed a smile when Timothy shot her an incredulous look. "Maybe a little bit, but he's at least trying, right? That means you can try as well, but sweetheart, relationships don't last with secrets in the way."

Now it was Timothy's turn to snort as he stood from the couch and paced, his hands twisted in his sweater. "You mean Oracle, right?"

"Of course. It's been an entire year and you still haven't told him."

"What do you want me to say to him, mom?" Timothy stopped, folded his arms and stared up at the ceiling, his expression exasperated. "Hey, Richard, sweetie, I work with Nightwing, you know, that vigilante that's running rampant in your city? Yeah, yeah, that one. That's like you telling Dad that a King proposed to you."

"We talked about that, Timothy, you're not supposed to mention that." Janet looked around, her lips thinning at the thought of her husband learning such a thing. "All things come to light, Timothy, and I wonder if I ever should have endorsed this."

"It's done New York City some good, mom," Timothy protested. "It's done me some good, you know? I can finally, finally, have something that's mine and I don't mean to tell him. Not yet. Besides, I'm sure he has secrets that he doesn't tell me and if our relationship is going to suffer, then, well, it can't be worse than what it was." Timothy's shoulders slumped. "...I realize that it's not in my best interest to keep this secret from Richard, but it is in New York's best interest to keep it from him. With Oracle, I can help keep this city safe behind the shadows, but in the light? I can do so much more as Timothy Drake. I can't promise you that this isn't going to come to light one day because, well, I'm pretty sure it will, but until then? I think it's best to keep it in the dark."

Janet nodded, her expression soft with sympathy. "When you approached me with this, I was skeptical about it. I feared for your life, but I watched as New York's crime rate lowered and I thought, that's my son and Nightwing, but at the same time, I wondered if this was right for you. If this was simply something to pass the time, but now," Janet rose from the couch and took her son into her arms, "I see that I was wrong. No matter what, I'm going to worry for you, and this is going to come to light. I want you to understand that there are consequences to these actions, to your and Nightwing's crusade."

"I understand and thank you, mom, thank you for believing in me."

Janet smiled, but Timothy wasn't a fool enough to not see the anguish behind his mother's eye and smile. She was still worried, and he wished that he could convince her otherwise but knew it was a useless endeavor. He would convince her in time that what he was doing was right and best for his future city.

He just hated the fact that he would see the same look of pain, betrayal and confusion in Richard's eyes one day.


	10. The Second Commander

Jason lifted his nose into the air, sniffing the air before a disgruntled look crossed his features. He turned his nose back down, looking at Timothy with a look that could only be described as disappointment and betrayal. It was a look that Timothy rarely saw on his friend's face and it was enough for him to step forward and place a hand against Jason's hand. But it was only shrugged off as the Sentinel entered the apartment, his nose still twitching as if he was hunting something or someone. It was as Jason was heading towards the kitchen that Timothy finally realized what was going on.

His mother was a multi-talented woman and cooking was near the top of a very long list of talents. In particular, her steak and potatoes were to die for and Jason had not only fallen in love with the dish, but his mother as well, prompting him to call his mother Mama Janet, or just plain Mama. Being deprived of parents at a young age, Janet and Jack were more than willing to adopt the grown man, who turned into a complete puppy at the sight of a good meal.

Therefore, Timothy resigned himself to joining Jason in the kitchen where the man was sitting on the bar stool with a faraway look. Timothy stood next to him, sending out an apologetic wave of remorse.

"I am sorry, Jason. I swear, it wasn't on purpose."

"You didn't call me for steak and potatoes, Timothy," Jason started, as if he hadn't heard Timothy's apology or felt his remorse. "I thought we were friends, you know? I thought we were family."

"We are, Jason. We are friends." Timothy struggled valiantly to hold back a smile at the absolute absurdity of this conversation. But he understood Jason's offense at not being invited to his mother's famous steak and potatoes. He would have been offended as well.

"It's fine, but you owe me dinner, and I want that casserole that you always make when you piss Stephanie off." Jason snapped his fingers in an attempt to remember before finally shrugging and pointing at Timothy with an accusing finger. "I don't remember, but I want that casserole."

"Right. What can I do for you?"

"I'm just visiting and I have to have an excuse to come and see you?" Jason placed his hand over his heart, a sarcastic expression crossing his features. "I feel more offended than over the steak and potatoes."

"Really?" Timothy drawled, raising an eyebrow at that particular statement. "I wonder how long you're going to keep that against me? I mean, Stephanie was there and she could have called you, you know?"

Jason stilled, his brow furrowing at the implications of that particular statement, but in typical Jason behavior, chose to ignore logical reasoning and brushed it off. Not for the first time, Timothy wondered about Richard's decision in making Jason his Second. Then again, Jason's temper along with his intelligence made him a prime candidate.

"Jason?" Timothy questioned again, his tone lighter, but holding the weight of a command. "What's the reason behind your visit? I'm sure you don't have a lot of time to be wasting on me."

"Damage control," Jason responded, as if those two words were enough, and they were, to Timothy, but for once, he was going to make Jason draw out his reasoning. He'd had enough riddle solving to last him a lifetime.

"Damage control?" he prodded, smiling when Jason huffed at his false naivety. "For whom?"

"You know for whom," Jason mocked, folding his arms and giving Timothy an unamused look. "He wanted to make sure that you were doing alright. I mean, I don't know why he couldn't do that himself, but he has this habit of acting like a little bitch lately."

Timothy smiled and didn't comment on his agreement. "He's simply wary about my reaction. I haven't been the most pleasant person to be around."

"Neither has he," Jason countered swiftly, shrugging nonchalantly. "I'm not here to defend him. I'm just here to see how you're doing. So?" Jason leaned closer, his blue eyes scanning Timothy's face for clues of distress. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Timothy responded, looking away when Jason's eyes darkened and his lips turned down into a frown at the lie. He stepped away from the kitchen island, folding his arms around himself. "It would have been nice if he came instead, you know?" He leaned against the back of the couch, his back still towards Jason. "It would have been the gentlemanly thing to do."

"He was raised to be a gentlemen, doesn't mean he'll act like one. I'm sure that he'll grow a pair and give you a call." Jason shook his head at the absurdity of it all. It really shouldn't be this hard to have a relationship, but how was it his problem if the both of them didn't want to work it out properly? "Besides, I know you're not going to spend all of your time in this apartment and mope the whole day, right? I mean, you live in New York, plenty of entertainment—the good kind—and I know you have a couple of friends that would die to spend time with you." Jason pointed to himself, wiggling his eyebrows and earning a small snort for the action. "I heard about this banging burger place just down the road..." Jason stepped closer, his hip bumping against Timothy's and earning a small chuckle. "What do you say? How about I take you on a real date? Huh? I'm deprived of intelligent company since Stephanie started her clinical."

"Okay." Timothy snorted out another laugh when Jason wrapped his arms around him and swayed back and forth. "I'll go. I'll go."

"Good. Juicy burgers here we come. Grab your coat, shorty."

Apparently, "down the street" meant going into Brooklyn, which, according to Timothy, was not "right down the street."

Fucking. Jason.

"I got you out of the house," Jason grumbled, chewing into his own burger with the viciousness of a wolf tearing into his prey. Timothy's stomach didn't bother to roll. He had seen it all before. "And I paid for your meal, and this is the thanks I get?" He adopted a whiny voice. "Oh, Jason, we're in Brooklyn, not down the street. Oh, woe is me."

"Okay, first, you're misconception of down the street is severely screwed, and second, I do not sound like that."

"You do when you whine." Jason leaned back, patting his stomach and looked as if he was going to order a second helping when Timothy spoke up, his tone scathing.

"I do not."

Jason raised an eyebrow at the tone before a smirk pulled at his lips and he raised his hand for a second helping. "You're really going to go there? You're really going to start this argument?"

Timothy's expression flickered at indignation for a brief second before he huffed and leaned back against the chair, raising his hand for another drink. Honestly, the crap he put up with on a daily basis was amazing. He should be in the Guinness Book of World Records. He deserved it.

"Come on." Jason leaned forward, his grin bright enough to cause a smile to pull at Timothy's own lips. "What do I get for taking you to this wonderful place, huh? A hug? A kiss? Some lovin'?" Jason wiggled his eyebrows, chuckling when Timothy snorted enough to draw more than one curious eye. "Seriously, you needed some cheering up. Dick hasn't been the most pleasant person to be around lately, if you get my drift."

"Yeah." Timothy nodded in agreement, his lips twisting into a frown. "I mean, he was fine when we went out earlier in the week, but now? I haven't heard anything from him. I feel like a girl not getting a call back after that first date." Timothy stared at Jason from underneath his bangs with a sheepish expression. "Have you heard from him? Anything?"

Jason nodded, his expression growing solemn. "The Council's on his ass again about the two of you making appearances, and plus the folks are coming into town again, so that doesn't make it any better."

"Mama and Papa Grayson are coming into town?" Timothy blinked in surprise, pushing down the joy he felt at the thought. John and Mary Grayson were the former Alpha Sentinel and Guide of New York City. They had always been kind to Timothy when he and Richard were first introduced, knowing what kind of life he was going to lead as an Alpha Guide and also as a Drake, a descendant of Jim Ellison. Timothy, having never complained to his parents, was quite taken aback when Mary pulled him aside and gave him a tight hug, whispering into his ear that it was going to be alright and that she would be there if he ever needed to talk.

She would always be there.

He never took her up on her offer, but just the thought of the offer being there was more than enough to get him through most days. Add to the fact that he had his own parents, Jason, and Stephanie, he was more than aware that he had family and loved ones to support him. It was just too bad that the one he wanted the most was barely around.

"I didn't mean to make you all emo when I said they were coming to town," Jason muttered, a bored expression on his face as he nudged Timothy's feet with his own. "Now that you know about Richard's little problem, what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

Jason rolled his eyes and looked skyward as if searching for advice or lightning to strike him down. It barely mattered at his point. "You know I love you, right?" Jason didn't wait for a response before continuing, his voice taking on a more gentle and no less chiding tone. "When I see you upset over the way Richard's treating you, I just want to shake you and yell into your face to do something about it. Go kick his ass, but you don't, because you're too damn kind. You're not a coward, you just never overstep your boundaries and I'm thinking it's time that you do, you know? Do something that'll leave him reeling in the wake."

Timothy chewed on his bottom lip, and his throat itched at the thought of telling Jason his secret. That in his own little way he was doing something right under Richard's nose. The power he held over Richard because of Oracle's presence felt exhilarating and he never wanted to stop. He was protecting the city in his own way, freeing it little by little with Nightwing's help, and the fact that he was helping the city as the Alpha Guide and as Oracle made his inner Guide purr in triumph. As much as he wanted to tell Jason, it would be best to keep his friends out of the loop, despite the fact that he knew the both of them were capable of protecting themselves. He thought it would be best if he kept them out of the line of fire.

"Richard is stressed," Timothy finally responded, ignoring the disappointment that flickered across Jason's face at the words, but Timothy pressed on, ignoring the sting of his own heart at the look. "I can understand the pressure of being an Alpha of one of the biggest cities on the planet, but I also understand that his treatment of me is unacceptable. I'm hoping that it'll change, but if not and I'm forced to make a move, then I will."

"What if that change never comes?" Jason questioned tightly. "What then?"

Timothy smiled, the motion sharp and filled with bitterness that made Jason's stomach twist into unpleasant knots. He never liked that look. Bad things happened when that look got on Timothy's face.

"Richard and I will simply part ways if push comes to shove. I love him, I truly do, but I won't stand here and take that kind of abuse for the remainder of our time together."

Jason stilled, swallowing back a mournful whimper at the thought of Richard and Timothy going their separate ways. He was a dumb ass to bring it up, but he never imagined one without the other, and the fact that the relationship Timothy tried so hard to keep up wasn't lasting was a reality check for his own relationship with Stephanie. The two weren't on the best of terms at the moment because of their busy schedules, but Jason was planning on changing that tonight when his Guide came over for dinner. The very thought of Stephanie leaving him sent a shiver down his spine, and he swallowed back down another whimper. Now wasn't the time to drown his own insecurities and fears, he had to concentrate on his friend and keep the already thinning bond from breaking and screwing New York City out of a decent Guide. The question was, how was he going to do that without making it worse? Stephanie always told him that he had a penchant for trouble and he was starting to believe her.

"Jason?" Timothy asked, reaching over and snapping his fingers in his friend's face. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Jason murmured, rising and wrapping up his burger that the waitress brought a scant ten minutes ago. "Let's get you back home, yeah? I have something to take care of in a little bit."

Timothy gave him one last concerned look before rising from the table and placing a couple of fives on the table as a tip.

"Sure thing."

000000000000000000

"You're awfully prickly tonight." Nightwing's smooth voice came over the comm link. "You want to talk about it?"

"No." Timothy stared at the screen, his glasses making a fierce glare. "I'm fine. What about you? You seem to be hitting harder than usual."

"Can't a guy practice his technique on the bad guys? Give them a run for their money?"

Timothy's lips twitched, and for the first time in days, felt an elation that he fought hard to suppress. Nightwing always managed to cheer him up without realizing it, and it was one of those nights when he needed a bad joke and flirtation to make the shift go smoother.

"I suppose, but we don't want to knock them out and give them concussions. We're merely incapacitating them and seeing if we can find Harley Quinn's newest weapons cache."

Nightwing snorted over the line at the mention of Harley Quinn, a Guide who had taken up shack with Poison Ivy to get away from her Sentinel, the Joker. It made Timothy's teeth itch at the thought of another Alpha Sentinel's criminals invading his territory. He had a bone to pick with Batman, but the man was prone to show up and scare the soul out of him, so he chose to pick his own battles. Didn't make it any easier to bear though.

"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Nightwing came over the comm link again, his tone breathless. "Problems on the home front?"

The image of Jason's remorseful eyes flashed in Timothy's mind's eye and his jaw clenched. He shook the image away. Problems at home was a word for it, he supposed.

"I have this friend," Timothy began. "He's in this relationship with his Sentinel, but sometimes the relationship isn't the best and sometimes it's his fault and other times it's his Sentinel's. They aren't bonded yet, but he hopes that when he does everything will be better. They argue with each other in a vicious cycle, and I feel sorry for him and I want to tell him that it would be best if they separated, but I know that they love each other. What kind of advice would you give to my friend?"

"Well," Nightwing began, his tone firm. "If it's a matter between a Sentinel and Guide, then I would normally say just let them figure it out and have the Council interfere if need be, but this is your friend, right? You want to protect them even if it's from his Sentinel, right?"

"Yeah."

"You should tell your friend to confront his future bond-mate and tell his Sentinel his feelings. If you say that they love each other and they're going through a tough time then it would be best to put everything out in the open, you know? Just clear the air and see what happens?"

"And if it doesn't work out?" Timothy swallowed at the thought, finally feeling what Jason was feeling hours ago. What a terrible thought. "What then?"

"Then?" Nightwing's voice was soft and remorseful, just as Jason had been. "It would be best if they parted ways. For the mental health of them both."

"I-I see. I'll make sure to pass the advice along. Thank you, Nightwing."

"No problem." Nightwing cursed suddenly when a shotgun blast pierced the air, the sound bouncing around Timothy's speakers. "Oh, and Oracle?"

Timothy took off his glasses and wiped away his tears. What a day this was turning out to be. "Yeah?"

"You're going to be okay, alright?" the gunfire stopped and he could hear a door open and slam. "You and your Sentinel are going to be okay."

"But-"

"The whole 'I have a friend' tidbit is a little old and it's obvious that you're talking about yourself. So, like I said before, it's going to be alright." Nightwing suddenly whistled, the sound delighted and relieved. "Low and behold, Oracle, the weapons cached has been found! Shall we start the fireworks?"

Timothy grinned, delighted at having found an answer to his problem and completed his objective for the night. "Let's light up the sky, Nightwing, and give them a show, yeah?"


	11. The Assassin

It was strange to have Richard sitting on his couch again with a sheepish expression and nervous eyes that used to be so full of confidence and authority. He supposed that it served as a lesson to their future relationship to give Richard the benefit of the doubt. Then again, it was fun to see the man act so nervous about their situation, and while Timothy wanted the man to feel what he felt during the week, he didn't have it in him to let him sit there and suffer for too much longer.

"I forgive you," Timothy muttered with a sigh, taking a seat next to the man on the couch and giving him a nudge on the shoulder. "You can stop acting like a man faced with a life and death decision now."

Richard's shoulders slumped in relief and he gave Timothy a mild smile. "I'm sorry for bailing, Timmy. I-I had a lot going on, you know?"

"According to Jason, and yes, he did tell me that you had a lot on your plate, so don't give me that look. Your parents are coming to town, and what's this Annual Gathering?"

At the mention of it, Richard tensed and withdrew into a cold silence, leaving Timothy to wonder whether it was the mention of his parents or the Annual Gathering that did it. Either way, he immediately set out to rectify the situation.

"Are you going to tell me about it? I mean, if it's so much trouble, then why have it at all? Is it an exclusive party like celebrities have or something?" Timothy leaned closer, his eyes directed to Richard's lips, and waited for the reaction from his next comment. "Is-is it a sex party? Come on, you can tell me, you know? I won't tell anyone." Timothy struggled to hold back his own laughter when he saw Richard's lips twitch. "Is it a swinger party? I knew you Sentinels were dirty."

Richard snorted, playfully shoving Timothy away with a chuckle. "Knock it off, and no, it's not a swinger party. That's just gross and you're going to think it's gross when you see the guest list."

"The guest list?" Timothy prodded. "I don't think I'll be grossed out if it's the same people that were at the auction." Timothy stopped at his wording. "Well, some of the same people."

Richard remained quiet at the statement, turning away with a frown. Barbara was still a sore subject, but Tim wasn't going to allow the older man to skirt around the issue, and whatever guilt or apprehension he was feeling was entirely his own fault.

"We do need to talk about what happened, Richard," Timothy murmured, his own jaw clenching at the thought. "You can't—" Timothy shook his head, his words muddling. "You can't just do such a thing, not in front of so many people. Do you know how I felt when you just brought her in there? Acting like she was your Guide."

"It wasn't like that..." Richard began, closing his mouth when Timothy shook his head sharply, before starting again. "I just wanted to thank her for helping me out. It wasn't meant to insult you."

"That would have worked if you had told me about what you were doing. That's what I'm talking about, Richard. We need to start communicating with one another. That's how bitter feelings surface and"—Timothy held a hand to his chest—"that's how bonds break between partners. Do you know how many pairings I've seen dissolve because of lack of communication? Or worse, silence? You're not alone anymore, Richard. You can't just do as you please."

"You should listen to your own words, Timothy," Richard replied. "I barely see you, and God knows what you're up to. Do you know what I have to go through just to keep you in this apartment?" Richard stood, body tense, and Timothy watched, wide-eyed, as the man paced around the living room, his jacket fluttering behind him. "Do you know what the Council says about you living here with another Guide? How improper it is?"

"There's nothing improper about me living here with Stephanie—"

"Yes," Richard muttered dangerously. "Yes, it is, Timmy. You're unbonded and she isn't. Jason visits all the time to see her, but what's going to happen when she finally leaves? You know she's moving out once she gets her medical licenses, which is what? A year or two from now? The woman is going through that program like a man goes through cigarettes in a fucking day. Do you know what I tell the Council? 'Timothy's not ready to move to the Grayson Manor. I ask that you give him time.' Again, again, and a-fucking-gain I have to tell those people that, and for what? For you to play around and do as you please? Do you read the magazines? Listen to the news? Alpha Guide Timothy Jackson Drake is a fucking bachelor."

"That's not true at all." Timothy lowered his eyes at Richard's protesting growl. "None of that is true."

"It might not be true, but you can't tell that to the media or the council. They barely have contact with you, Timothy. What do you expect them to believe?"

For once in his life, Timothy couldn't find the words to respond, merely sitting down on the couch, gaze lowered. But, despite his submissive stance, Richard continued, his words relentless and harsh.

"You talk as if all our problems are mine to bear, but it's not just me, it's you as well, Timothy. You don't tell me anything either, and when I try to spend time with you, it's awkward and tense and you act..." Richard blew out a sigh and continued, his tone saddened. "You act as if you don't want to be around me."

"I don't— You're not—" Timothy stopped, his jaw clenching. "That's not true."

"Really? Because, I'm thinking otherwise."

"You act as if you don't want to be around me," Timothy said quietly. "Did you even want this arrangement? Do you even want—"

"It would be in your very best interest if you stopped that sentence, Timothy," Richard interrupted quietly, his tone bordering on dangerous. "If I didn't want you, then you would have figured that out."

"How?" Timothy prodded, careful with his wording, realizing that he was on extremely thin ice as it was. "We never really talk and you don't tell me how you feel and what you're doing. We don't communicate at all. Actually, the only time we talk is when we're at each other's throats. So, Richard, no, I don't know how you feel at all."

"I want this to work. Do you know how I felt when you were dancing with Jason and Oliver?" Richard's jaw clenched and he looked away, his cheeks a mild red. "You don't know how crazy Sentinels get when someone is all over their Guide."

"It's the same for Guides, Richard," Timothy countered, struggling to hold back a smile at the absurdity of this conversation. "How do you think I felt when I saw Barbara all over you?"

"She's just a—"

"A friend," Timothy finished, a sad light entering his eyes at the age-old excuse. How many times had he heard it throughout his life? And now from Richard? "Of course."

At his tone, Richard scowled, and he opened his mouth to start the argument anew when his phone vibrated in his pocket, interrupting their conversation. He held up one finger before turning his back to Timothy and listening to the speaker on the other line.

"Is it an emergency?" Richard asked coolly. "Or can't you figure it out for yourself?" A pause before a sigh escaped Richard's lips. "Fine. I'll come, but I want a meeting called about this. It's the second time in a fucking row." Richard ended the call with more force than necessary before turning back to Timothy with a bland stare. "I have to go. Something's come up."

"Of course," Timothy murmured, a chill settling over the room. He waited until Richard gathered his things and stopped at the door before calling out. "Richard?"

The Sentinel stilled, his back still to his Guide. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry." It was out of Timothy's mouth before he could pull the words back in. As much as he didn't want to admit it, everything Richard said was true. His reluctance to be seen with Richard, moving into the Grayson Manor, and acting like a bachelor—all of it. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright." Richard sighed heavily, coming forward and embracing Timothy from behind. "We've been giving each other hell lately, haven't we?" Richard tugged him closer, burying his face into his hair and smiling into the strands. "I'm sorry too, and I accept your apology."

"And I accept your apology," Timothy returned lightly. He nudged Richard back when his phone rang again, the tone insistent. "You better get going or you're going to be late. We'll talk later?"

"Yeah," Richard murmured, removing himself from Timothy and heading towards the door again, his strides less stressful. "See you later."

It was only when the door clicked shut that Timothy slumped and leaned against the back of the couch, an exhausted expression appearing on his features. Honestly, how did he get into these messes? But he was glad that it got cleared up before it could get too suppressed. Bottled emotions were never a good thing when concerning a Sentinel and Guide couple, and Timothy knew from experience. Still, he wondered how long Richard had been holding that in? Days? Weeks? Months? He knew that Richard put up with the Council's demands on his own, and Timothy handled some of the leg work concerning Guides, but beyond that? He never really interacted with the upper echelons of New York unless it was necessary.

He understood the politics thanks to his parents and Richard's, and he supposed that he was never meant to get too deep, but maybe it was time to change that? He always blamed Richard for not being closer, but wasn't he at fault as well? Richard had tried, but Timothy hadn't really bothered, too busy with his life and Oracle, and now all of this was biting him in the butt. He didn't show it, but he felt the hurt, distrust and loss from Richard hit his mental shields, and it took all he had not to break down and cry. This man—this charming, handsome man—had been hurting, and Timothy hadn't done a damn thing despite Jason and Stephanie's prodding in that direction. So many things went unsaid and unheard that Timothy's eyes stung with unshed tears at the thought of it. Even though they'd promised to be better towards each other, neither of them had kept their resolve, but this time, Timothy was going to do it. He was going to make sure that Richard felt loved and cared for, and he was going to make sure those feelings were sincere and grateful.

After all, that was what Guides did for their Sentinels, right?

Hours and several ruined plans later found Timothy walking down the street from his local convenience store, a bag of junk food in his hand. As he was about to turn down his street towards his apartment, he felt a presence behind him, and before he could move, he felt cold metal press against his spine and a deep, rumbling voice against his ear.

"Don't move."

Timothy froze, the bag in his hand heavier suddenly, and with a shuddering breath, reached out his empathy, only to hiss when the gun was pressed against his spine again, harder and with more force as he was dragged into an alleyway. Was this the way he was going to go? Killed in an alleyway by a man who wanted to rob him?

"I don't like people prodding in my mind like that, Guide," the man pressed, and through the pounding of his heart, Timothy heard the man release the safety on the gun. "Up against the wall." Timothy was pressed against the wall before he could follow the command and shuddered in revulsion as the man pressed against him, inhaling deeply. That's when he felt the whirlwind of emotions banging against his mental shields.

This Sentinel was inching towards a zone-out.

"F-Figure it out, did you?" the man murmured. "I smelled you from a mile away. I knew I had to do something to get me out of this little daze and what do you know? I find a delicious little Guide." Timothy whimpered when the man licked his ear, a deep moan escaping the robber's throat. "Christ, you taste good."

Timothy's hands twitched as the man moved away. If he could just reach his—

"Timothy?" another deep voice called out, smooth and questioning. "What are you doing in that alleyway?"

Timothy stilled, turning his head a margin to see a white-haired man standing at the entrance, his lone gray eye staring at him with an intensity that could only be compared to Richard's.

"Hey, mind your own business, old man!" the robber called out. "You got the wrong person. His name isn't Timothy, right?" The question was directed towards him, and Timothy made the decision that could have cost him his life if the robber had moved as fast as the Flash himself.

"Yes!" Timothy called out, pushing himself off the wall and running towards the man who could possibly be ten times worse than his first offender. "It's me! You have—"

"Uh huh, you little rat!" The robber's voice choked off when he was suddenly thrown against the wall and knocked unconscious, and Timothy swallowed at the brutality of it.

He was thankful, of course.

"Thank you," Timothy breathed, watching as the white-haired man approached him, and Timothy saw that he was broader than anticipated and screamed Alpha. Enough so that Timothy took a step back without realizing it, and it caused the man to smile. "Um, thank you...?"

"Slade," the man introduced himself kindly. "Slade Wilson, and you are...?"

"Timothy Drake." Timothy jumped when the man gave a hum of surprise. "What is it? Did I say something wrong?"

"No, I'm just surprised that your name is actually Timothy. I pulled that out of my ass, excuse the foul language."

"No." Timothy snorted, despite the ill situation sitting before them. "It really was quite ironic." He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering when Slade caught the action. "Once again, thank you for saving me, Slade. I'll—"

"You should head to the police station, Alpha Guide Drake," Slade murmured, causing Timothy to jump in surprise. "Or Alpha Sentinel Grayson will tear this city apart looking for your aggressor." Slade, much to Timothy's surprise, ventured into the alley and emerged again with his would be rapist over one shoulder, scowling. "Let's get going?"

"Where are we going?" Timothy prodded, watching as Slade hit the man again, knocking him unconscious for the second time. "In the middle of the night?"

"We're going to a police station where you're going to call Alpha Sentinel Grayson and get this matter settled. Come along."

Timothy stared in shock, shaking his head before blowing a tight sigh when Slade gave him an impatient glance over his shoulder. He could imagine the media shit storm and groaned at the thought of it.

What a fucking night.


	12. The Parents II

"Are you alright?!" Richard's hands were tight on Timothy's shoulders as the Sentinel peered down into Timothy's eyes, watching as those blue irises flickered with confusion, then fear before finally settling on a mild form of relief. Good. That was a good sign. "Timothy?" he questioned again, firmer. "Are you alright? Did that man hurt you?"

"No," Timothy whispered, finally able to gather his wits and shake himself out of his daze. He reached up, placing one of his hands on Richard's, hoping that the touch could calm himself and the Sentinel. "I'm fine. He didn't hurt me. I'm sorry to worry you, Richard."

"No," Richard breathed, the color returning to his face, relief flickering in his own eyes at finally gaining a response. "It's okay. There's no need to apologize." He took Timothy fully into his arms, leaning down and breathing in the Guide's scent, his throat forcing down a snarl at the unfamiliar smell. That man. That disgusting man's smell was still on his Guide's skin, but that was a good thing. If he had the scent then he would have no trouble tracking the thug down and ripping his throat out. He would be within valid reason and he was damn sure that no repercussions would come out of it. It was well known in the Sentinel-Guide community that it was an instant death sentence for a Sentinel if he or she touched a Guide inappropriately—especially if the Guide was bonded or in the process of it.

"I'm assuming that everything's in control?" Slade's smooth voice interrupted Richard's quickly degrading thoughts. The man's gray eye scanned Timothy up and down—a gesture that would have had Richard growling if not for the situation that brought Slade to the police department as well. "Do you need my assistance?"

"No," Richard responded, pulling Timothy closer and rubbing his arms when he felt the Guide shiver in his embrace. Richard wasn't stupid enough to think that it was from the cold. "Thank you, Alpha Wilson."

Timothy froze at the title, lifting his head and staring at Slade with shock. Of course, he knew this man was an Alpha Sentinel, but the way Richard used his title was as if—

"Although the circumstances aren't in our favor nor are they appropriate, I suppose this would be a good time to introduce you to the Alpha Sentinel of Colorado, Slade Wilson. Slade, this is my Guide, Timothy Jackson Drake. I have to thank you for saving him. You have my utmost gratitude."

Slade's gray eye narrowed on the pair, his shoulders tensing as he took in their postures towards him and each other. "It was my pleasure, Alpha Grayson, Alpha Drake." He continued unabashedly staring until Timothy turned his eyes elsewhere, as if he knew what Slade was thinking about. This wasn't normal Sentinel-Guide behavior, especially when one's Guide was almost assaulted.

"I didn't know of your title, Alpha Wilson," Timothy murmured, his body stilling in shock at the thought of meeting an Alpha in such a situation, but he pressed on, manners dictating his actions even so. "You have my apologies."

Slade stared at him for a full moment before turning his eye to Richard, who looked shocked at the statement. He looked back down at Timothy before reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder, ignoring the flinch of the sudden touch.

"My title at the time meant nothing. What mattered was your safety. Our society demands that we place our statuses before ourselves and our sanity, but you'll find, Alpha Drake, that I deny such a rule. A Guide's safety—of the body and the mind—should be a Sentinel's concern first and foremost. Something of which Alpha Grayson has shown me today. So, Alpha Drake, let us set aside titles and manners and concentrate on your mental and physical health along with the suitable punishment of the man that assaulted you." At this, he turned back to Richard, whose eyes had darkened at the mention of the man. "You'll find him in one of the holding rooms and out of his zone out. But I doubt such a detail will save him from your Sentinel's wrath, I'm afraid." Slade nodded his head in Richard's direction before allowing his lips to pull into a quick smile that vanished as quick as it came. "Do you need any assistance? Or shall I remain here in Timothy's company?"

"No," Richard intoned darkly, sending a shiver down Timothy's spine from the excitement and bloodlust in the tone. "If you would be so kind as to remain in Timothy's company? This won't take but a moment."

"Of course."

"Richard," Timothy began, quickly cut off when Richard ruffled his hair, the dark look momentarily leaving his face. "Don't. You don't need to do this, alright? I'm fine." He patted down his slightly dirty and wrinkled clothing, his nose scrunching up at the feel of it. "See? I'm perfectly fine."

"I know that you're fine," Richard soothed, that dark light entering his eyes again. "However, the man that hurt you won't be. You have to understand that this can't go unpunished, Timmy. No one hurts a Guide and gets away with it. No one hurts my Guide and gets away with it, do you understand?"

"I—" Timothy's lips thinned and he turned his head away, an angry flush coloring his cheeks. "I understand."

"Good. Then wait here with Alpha Wilson and I'll be back soon."

Timothy only turned his head back when he heard Richard's footsteps fade down the hall, quickly followed by a door clicking shut, the sound loud against the sudden silence of the police department.

"Come," Slade urged quietly, a grim look on his features, making him seem older and more tired. "Let's get some coffee to warm your bones and we can get to know each other properly, yes? I've heard many good things about what you've been doing for the community, Alpha Drake."

"Yes." Timothy turned to look in the direction that Richard had left only to be gently but firmly turned in the direction of the lounge area where a pot of horrible coffee was waiting. Manners taking over again, he didn't comment when the drink scalded his tongue and offended his taste buds.

"Outrageous," Slade muttered, doing the complaining for him as he tossed the drink back into the sink and did the same for Timothy's, who made no visible protest. "You'd think with the rather large budget that the NYPD has they would indulge in the coffee instead of whatever that was." Slade looked vaguely disgusted before his face smoothed and he had his attentions on Timothy once more. "Another thing to discuss with your Sentinel?"

Timothy's lips twitched at Slade's rather poor attempt at humor. "He would know that you're behind it. I'm not involved with NYPD or other police matters in the New York State."

"You should be, Alpha Drake." Slade moved forward, reaching out a hand and pulling out a chair, wincing as the legs scrapping against the tile floor. "Come, sit. I did promise to keep you entertained until Alpha Grayson returns."

"What's he going to do to that man?" Timothy questioned, deep down already knowing the answer but feeling compelled to ask anyway. Slade merely tossed him a contemplative look before urging him to sit down.

"He's going to kill him, of course." Slade responded, as if the entire matter was a part of everyday life. As if it was a simple chore. "You do know the punishment for assaulting an Alpha Guide—a soon to be bonded Alpha Guide—is death, correct?"

"Well..." Timothy hesitated. He knew. Of course he knew, but he never realized that such a method would be carried out in this day and age. "Richard can't—" Timothy stopped, his heart racing against his chest at the thought of Richard beating someone to death with his bare hands, and his stomach rolled. "What if I didn't want him to? What if I didn't want him to kill him?"

"It's not up to the Guide," Slade responded, his tone holding little to no sympathy. "Although rules about Sentinels and Guides have changed over the decades, the one thing that hasn't and won't is punishment towards Guides and Sentinels should they hurt one another. In a Sentinel's case, if their Guide is hurt, then it's up to the Sentinel to decide the punishment of the offender and vice versa. In most cases, the punishment has been either life imprisonment or death at the hands of said party and it seems that Richard has chosen the more archaic decision regarding this incident."

"So I'm suppose to sit here and wait while my Sentinel beats someone to death?"

"Yes." The response was blunt and cold and it made Timothy reel and set his teeth on edge. "If you were in his shoes, what would you have done? I don't think you would have let him get away with it, no? On the contrary, you would have shot him in the head." Slade smirked, the motion deadly and darkly amused. "You seem like the close and personal type."

Timothy swallowed, turning his head away so that Slade wouldn't see his flush and thinned lips. Would he have done the same thing? Would he have killed the person who hurt Richard? He clenched his jaw when he realized that yes, he would have killed the man and punished him thoroughly before he took his life at the end. Did that make him a monster?

"No," Slade responded swiftly. "It doesn't make you a monster. Protecting the ones that you love and cherish doesn't make you a monster. In fact, doing nothing at all makes you one. What kind of man would Richard be if he just stood by and watched you suffer at the hands of another man? Not only is his honor as an Alpha Sentinel on the line, but so is his honor as a man and your future mate. And as a Guide, do him the honor of allowing him this moment. Allow him to protect you and safeguard you from future threats. Not only would this soothe his spirit but his mind as well. Killing this man will soothe his blood lust for failing to protect you."

"But he wasn't there," Timothy protested. "I was in a completely opposite part of town so how could he possibly know this was going to happen? I don't blame him, Alpha Wilson. In fact, I'm just glad that he's here with me. I don't want—" Timothy stopped when Slade gave him an impatient look. "It's— It's not about what I want, is it?"

"No." Slade's annoyance was brushed away. "I'm afraid not, Alpha Drake. As you fully enter the world of Sentinels and Guides when you're bonded, you will understand the actions taken today, and when you do, I would appreciate a nice little basket filled with the best coffees that New York has to offer."

Timothy blinked once, twice before giving a sharp nod and turning his head when the door opened and Richard's disheveled form appeared. The first thing Timothy noticed was the blood on the collar of his shirt and knuckles. The man's eyes were dilated, his shoulders tense and his breathing almost erratic. Timothy rose only to stop when Richard shook his head sharply.

"I'm fine." Richard breathed through his nose and out of his mouth twice before speaking again, his voice returning to that deep timbre. "I'm fine. Are you alright?" Richard looked to Slade and Timothy, narrowing his eyes at the shaken look his Guide had adopted since he entered the room. "Timothy? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Timothy rose from the chair again and approached Richard, taking him into a tight embrace that Richard was all too quick to return. "Nothing. Everything is fine."

Richard frowned down at his Guide before lifting his head to Slade, who shook his head sharply. Both men knew the reassurance was a lie, but were too conflicted to call the Guide out for it.

"Okay," Richard murmured, leaning down and taking a deep, shuddering breath to comfort himself with Timothy's smell. "As long as you're okay then so am I, alright? You want to go home?"

"Yeah." Timothy buried his face farther into Richard's shirt, ignoring the smell of blood that mixed with Richard's cologne. He wanted to get the Sentinel home and force him to take a bath. He didn't want to think what that man looked like now. How mangled his face was or if his neck was broken or if his body was twisted and disfigured.

"Stop," Richard commanded swiftly. "Don't think about it. Don't think about him. He no longer matters." Richard looked up, returning his attention to Slade, who had risen from the chair and had taken to watching them with that one, gray, keen eye. "I thank you, Alpha Wilson. Would you like to come to my home for a drink? Before the Reunion, of course?"

"No, but thank you." Slade made his way towards the door. "I think it would be best if you took your Guide home and let him rest." Slade took one last look at Timothy as he moved towards the door. "Be well, Alpha Drake."

Timothy lifted his head briefly and opened his mouth to return the gesture only to find Slade long gone, leaving him alone with Richard, who embraced him once more before leading him out of the police station.

"Where are we going?" Timothy asked, shivering at the chill of the night as the car pulled around and Richard allowed him to climb in first. "Richard?"

"Home," Richard rumbled, reaching over and pulling Timothy to his side before burying his face into his hair and letting out a deep, rumbling purr. "We're going home."

Home was in the form of the Grayson Manor, and Timothy tossed Richard an unsure look that the man all but ignored as they were dropped off at the front. They proceeded up the stairs and into the foyer where Alicia, the weekly help, stopped them with a tight smile and worried eyes.

"Ms. Alicia?" Richard greeted warily when the woman looked everywhere but at him, which spoke volumes considering that her favorite place to look was his ass and his eyes when she thought he didn't notice. "What's the matter?"

"Alpha Grayson," Alicia murmured, nodding her head in Timothy's direction, the look she shot towards the Guide all but sympathetic. "Alpha Sentinel and Guide Grayson are in the drawing room."

"What?" Richard murmured, his eyebrows shooting up at the information. "They weren't supposed to be in until tomorrow night. What are they doing here?"

Alicia looked frayed, her green eyes growing dim with worry and anxiety. He didn't blame her. Despite the kindness his mother displayed, she was a rather hard woman to please on a good day. Meanwhile his father didn't care; as long as he had a beer and a television in front of him, he was content.

"They wanted to surprise you before the whole Annual Gathering started," Alicia replied. "But when I informed them of your location they grew worried and I had to stop Alpha Guide Grayson several times from going outside, and I think I'm on the verge of being fired. Am I fired?"

"No," Timothy sounded bitterly amused. He knew Mary's moods and he could tell that she was in a fantastic one, which explained her torturing the staff and causing Richard's perpetual unhappiness. "You can go home tonight, Alicia. I'll attend to the Graysons."

"Oh." Alicia gave a relieved smile, nodding her head in gratitude. "I'll go grab my bag. Have a good night, you two."

Timothy waited until Alicia was out of earshot before turning to Richard with a frigid smile, a motion that informed Richard that he wasn't pleased. At all. "Well, shall we go face the music and tell them what happened?"

"Oh," Richard muttered, twitching when he felt his mother press inquisitively against his mental shields. Timothy's sudden twitch indicated that his father was doing the same thing. Nosy people, the both of them.

"Yeah." Because why the hell not? It wasn't like the night wasn't already fucked up. "Let's go face the music."


	13. The Dark Sentinel

"Mrs. Grayson," Timothy greeted with a small kiss to her powdered cheek, his nose twitching at the smell of vanilla and lavender. "Good evening." He turned to John, who was giving him an intense look that burned down to his bones, but he was graceful, nodding his head in the former Alpha Sentinel's direction. "Mr. Grayson? How are you?"

"Good," John intoned, his gray eyes taking in Timothy with a scrutiny he hadn't seen since his grandmother was alive. "Yourself?"

"Fine," Timothy responded, instantly regretting the lie the moment it flew from his lips. Judging from the sudden darkening of John's eyes, it wasn't well received or appreciated either. "Mr. Grayson—"

"John." The Sentinel leaned back against his chair, crossing one leg over the other and staring down at Timothy as if he was an insect under a microscope, and even though Timothy knew John wasn't the type of man to look down on even the simplest of creatures, the look still sent a shiver down his spine.

"John," Timothy corrected, his lips twitching into a weak smile, a sign of his exhaustion and his unwillingness to deal with his in-laws, as kind as they were. "It's been a long night and—"

"I understand," John interrupted again, his gray eyes softening as he took in Timothy's rather rumpled appearance, a far cry from how the smaller man usually presented himself. "Alicia was graceful enough to inform us of the incident." John's jaw clenched at the statement, his eyes flickering to his son, who stood tense next to Timothy with thin lips and darkened eyes. "I trust that the matter has been resolved?"

"Yes," Richard murmured, feeling particularly scrutinized when his father's eyes drifted down to his bruised knuckles before moving up to his blood-stained collar. "Of course." Richard moved towards his mother, careful of his clothing, smell and the emotions thrumming underneath his skin. He pressed a kiss against the powdered cheek. "Mother. Are you well?"

"Quite." Mary shot her son a look, reaching out and gripping his chin to stare into his eyes, unsurprised when she found nothing but dull exhaustion, a sight that she saw in her own husband when he presided over the city. She frowned, deeply unsettled at her son's emotional state before locking eyes with Timothy across the room, smiling tightly to show reassurance. Judging from the way he paled and suddenly avoided eye contact though, she didn't do a good job of hiding her disappointment regarding the care of her son. Guides were beacons for Sentinels and the thought of Timothy not doing his job and taking care of her son hurt and disappointed her greatly.

However, she knew what her son was like. She knew the stubbornness her son wore like a cloak could have well prevented Timothy from performing his Guide duties. Still, despite the valid excuse, Timothy should have been stronger, more stubborn than her mule of a son.

This, Mary realized with a worrying frown, was a dreadful problem.

"Sit," Mary urged, forcing her emotions behind her shields and locking them up tightly. Now wasn't the time to be the sympathetic mother. "Sit," she urged again when Timothy made no move to follow the command. "You both looked exhausted."

"Mother—"

"Whatever is happening between the both of you needs to stop now," Mary began, ignoring her son's weak, exhausted protests. She folded her hands in her lap, crossing one leg over the other as she moved her eyes from her son to Timothy, who had yet to make eye contact with her—a telltale sign that spoke volumes. "New York is considered to be one of the most powerful cities on the eastern coast, and for that to continue to be a fact, the both of you need to maintain an united front." She held up her hand when Timothy's head shot up. "Tonight's incident along with the fiasco with the auction tells me that you two are far from being the perfect Sentinel-Guide couple." Mary took a breath, giving her silent husband a deploring look before turning her eyes back to her son and son-in-law. "This isn't the right time to be arguing among yourselves like children. Timothy, Richard should have never had to do what he did tonight, and Richard, Timothy should have never gotten into the situation. Neither of you should have been in this situation tonight, but the fact remains that both of you were. What matters is fixing the problems born from your stagnant miscommunication."

"You're seriously considering giving us a therapy session are you, mother?" Richard looked vaguely scandalized whilst Timothy had the nerve to look downright bemused. "We don't need to discuss our problems."

"Timothy was almost raped tonight," John spoke up bluntly, staring down his son as if he was still an errant pup. "You beat his assailant to death tonight and you don't think you need an impromptu intervention." The former Alpha Sentinel rose from the chair and approached the whiskey decanter that sat on the small table, pouring himself a glass. "What was going to happen after tonight, Richard? Were you going to leave Timothy to his own devices?" John swallowed the finger of whiskey down before pouring himself another. "I sincerely hope that wasn't the case."

"It wasn't." Richard forced down his snarl at the implication. His father was never a man to butcher his own words. "I had planned to stay with him for a couple of weeks until he was settled and comfortable."

"Attempted rape doesn't settle in a few weeks," John continued, staring at his son as if he was an raging idiot. "Timothy needs to be moved into the Grayson Manor."

"I don't—" Timothy muttered, protesting when Mary swooped in, her voice soothing but firm against his weak protests.

"If Slade hadn't come along then that man would have hurt you more than we could ever hope to repair, Timothy." Mary stood from her own chair, bending down and taking Timothy's hands in her own once she was close enough. "I know that you're not ready to move in with Richard, but have you been considering it? Even at all?"

"I—" Timothy's cheeks flushed at the sudden attention. "I...was going to inquire about it once Stephanie had finished her clinicals."

"I thought you didn't—" Richard looked confused before his face flickered with shame and he looked away. "I never thought to ask you—not once. I just demanded."

"You're a Sentinel," Timothy quipped, his lips twitching when Richard snorted. "It comes with the territory to demand things of others—especially if you're an Alpha."

"This is amusing, but shall we get back to the subject at hand?" John inquired kindly, the solemn expression still on his face. "Timothy." John looked vaguely uncomfortable, but pressed on, his lips thinned. "What happened tonight was unfortunate and it won't be the last time it happens to a Guide. It would ease our minds if you would move into Grayson Manor immediately." John raised his hand to halt Timothy's protests. "However, I understand your hesitation towards the idea, but what happened cannot happen again. If not for your sake then for Richard's. A Sentinel seeing their Guide in such distress is not only mentally damaging, but it can be physical as well. As for the Guide, the degradation of your mind is not something a doctor or a psychiatrist will be able to cure." Once again, John looked uncomfortable before pressing forward, his voice choked. "My cousin, a Guide, was violently assaulted on a night such as this one. She ended up taking her life because she not only felt violated but impure and used and unfit for her Sentinel, who thought otherwise. I don't have to tell you what happened to her Sentinel after she died, do I?"

"No." Timothy swallowed, his eyes stinging. "You don't, Alpha Grayson."

He didn't need a reminder of how such incidents effected Guides, and therefore their Sentinels. He had seen many cases of Guides who were raped and killed and shortly followed by the destruction of both minds. It led to a merciful euthanasia, some of which Timothy had been a witness to due to the couple having no family and acting as a guarantor.

"You're frightening him," Richard stated, his voice lowering an octave. "That's enough, Father."

John blinked once before nodding and falling into a thoughtful silence that gave Timothy no reprieve. "What do you plan to do?" he asked once a lengthy pause passed. "The Annual Gathering is upon us and the last thing this city or you need is to show weakness. It's bad enough that Alpha Wilson knows of the incident, but the others? They are not as discreet as one would believe." John clenched his teeth at the thought of it. "Alpha Luthor would use this information to show everyone that Metropolis is a better place for Sentinels and Guides to reside."

"This isn't some contest," Timothy stated, looking startled at his own words. He flushed, but continued, his tone firm. "I'm not in competition with Lex Luthor or Oliver Queen, nor am I ashamed that Slade Wilson knows of my sexual assault. In fact, if it hadn't been for him, who knows how far that man would have gotten? I'm grateful towards him and I'm in his debt. Again, something that I'm not ashamed of." He turned to John and Mary, who remained tight lipped at his little speech. "As for me moving into the Grayson Manor. No. I'm not going to let this little incident cow me into doing something that I'm not quite ready for. For the moment, I would like to remain in my apartment, and if it's agreeable with Richard, then he's more than welcome to give me an escort when I'm out or even come himself should he not be too be busy." Timothy turned to his Sentinel, who was giving him an amused look. "Is this agreeable to you?"

"It would be even if I didn't agree with it," Richard muttered, amused with the whole proceedings. "Dad, Timothy is right, this isn't a competition. I do understand your worry about Timothy and the idea that we have to maintain a united front, but forcing us to move forward when we're not ready? That's merely showing the public what it wants and causes cracks in our facades."

"Cracks that are already there, sweetheart," Mary countered swiftly. "What happened tonight is just the beginning. How much pressure do you think it's going to take before your shields break? How long do you think it's going to take for my son to go into a zone out that he can't get out of? We're not trying to control you..." Mary's painted lips thinned. "We just want you to be safe. We want this city to be safe."

"And we are and it will be." Timothy stepped forward, taking Mary's hands in his own, noticing the distinct difference between them. While hers were fine boned and soft, his own were scarred and calloused—showing nights of messing with equipment that would help in his journey as Oracle. It amazed him that such differences in their hands showed the differences in protecting this city. "I want you to believe in us," Timothy murmured, refusing to meet his mother-in-law's eyes. "I want you to believe that we can take care of our own."

"We do—"

"You don't." Richard cut in quietly. "If you did, you wouldn't be making all these decisions for us. I want you to believe that I can take care of Timothy, just as he can take care of me."

"Alright," John acquiesced after sharing a long look with his Guide. "Alright. We'll trust you, but don't let us down. You have no idea how many people are relying on you."

Timothy nodded, relieved that their parents' prodding was over with for the time being. But, unbeknownst to them, Timothy knew how many people were relying on them. He knew that many people were relying on him and Richard just as they relied on Nightwing and Oracle. It was all about balance—a balance that he knew would be ruined if he moved in with Richard. He couldn't risk it. Not now.

He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to risk it.

"I am sorry to cut this short, but we have to get ready for the Gathering and so do the both of you." Mary pressed one last kiss against his cheek before pulling away, leaving a lingering lavender and vanilla smell that seemed to stick to her skin. "We'll talk more about this later, alright?"

"Of course." Richard reached over and wrapped an arm around Timothy's shoulders, watching as John and Mary departed from the drawing room, their postures more relaxed than the previous hour. When he was sure that they were out of earshot, Richard turned down to Timothy with a tight, but relieved smile. "I am sorry. About everything."

"It's okay."

"It's really not." Richard released him, bending down so that he could look up into his Guide's eyes. "What happened should have never happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you. That's going to change. I promise."

"There's—" Timothy swallowed at the thought—the temptation—of Richard being there more. Caring for him more. "There's no need to do that, Richard. We're both doing the best we can."

"I would like to try harder. Be around more, you know? I know that our duties don't exactly allow for personal time, but maybe we should start to do them together? Our meetings with the Council coincide more often than not, right?"

"Right." Timothy struggled not to smile—to melt—at the effort. An effort that Timothy hoped would last. "I would like that."

"So would I." Richard reached out and caressed Timothy's cheek, drawing a small blush from the action and a smile from Richard. "Come on. We have a Gathering to get to. I had the forethought of bringing a suit for you. You know where the bathroom and supplies are, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Go get ready. We have people to impress." Richard pressed a quick kiss to his cheek and he was off in a whirlwind of sandalwood and wind, leaving Timothy to wonder how in the world he was going to get through this night.

"Here," Stephanie murmured, hours later. "Your tie is a little crooked." She moved the deep blue tie and smoothed down his jacket with a smile, her deep red lips gleaming underneath the lights of the NoMad Hotel. She turned, her black dress shifting as she moved. "This place is beautiful. You both have really outdone yourselves." She moved to wrap her arms around herself. "A little chilly though."

"Right." Timothy grinned, taking a look at the long dinner table situated under the thick tent along with the lights that made up for the quickly emerging darkness. While the Annual Gathering was in full swing and all the participants had been introduced, the conversation between him, Richard, and his parents had yet to leave his mind. What had happened last night was still on his mind. It forced him to realize that beneath all the glitz and glamour he didn't want to be here tonight. He didn't want to put up with the forced politeness this Gathering brought. The last thing he wanted to do was go into a forced conversation with Lex Luthor, the man constantly prodding about what Richard was doing these days, how he was improving his city.

He didn't want to be here and yet, he had to. He had no choice.

"What's wrong?" Stephanie took his arm, leading him to the refreshment table where punch, wine, and soda was waiting. It was an unusual spread, but not all Alphas were of the legal age—Alpha Guide Wally West being one of them at the ripe age of twenty. "Is..." Stephanie looked uncomfortable. "Is this about the other night? Are you thinking about it? Do you need to go somewhere else?"

"No," Timothy murmured, shooting her an unimpressed and thankful look. "I'm fine. Thank you, Stephanie." He reached out and brushed his hand against hers. "Why don't you find Jason? I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Stephanie suddenly looked unsure. As if finding her Sentinel would be too troublesome. "I would," she murmured, "but I'm freaked out by his... company."

"Company?" he prodded gently, turning his head when her gaze swept to the entrance on the far right side. There, standing in front of Jason, was a man dressed in a tailored black suit with a deep crimson tie. The man was big, even from this distance, but what caught Timothy off guard was the man's deep blue eyes and small smile. The gestures were tight and stand-offish, as if the man wasn't happy to be here.

A trait that he and Timothy had in common.

"See?" Stephanie muttered, taking a slow sip of her juice—not in the mind to be tipsy tonight. "I never thought that Bruce Wayne would come to the Gathering. He missed it last year, didn't he?"

"He did, but that's because of the rumors about Damian." Timothy's lips shot up into a smile when Jason's eyes caught his, which, in turn, caught Bruce Wayne's. What happened next, Timothy would recall for a good three years before the trauma faded.

Well, at least he would finally figure out why they called Bruce Wayne the Dark Sentinel. Learning curve and all.


	14. The Dark Sentinel II

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Alpha Sentinel Wayne." Timothy held out his hand for the man to take, but was quite surprised when Bruce took his hand to his mouth, pressing a small kiss to the back of it.

"Please," Bruce whispered against his fingers, his deep blue eyes staring into his own. "Call me Bruce." His hand was lowered, and Timothy refused to acknowledge the tingling that remained from the man's lips on his skin. He wondered—very briefly—if that was what it was like to have a Sentinel's lips on his skin? To have the absolute attention and adoration of another man as handsome and charming as Bruce?

"If you insist that I call you Bruce, then please, call me Timothy." Timothy took the opportunity to take a good look at the Alpha Sentinel and wasn't surprised at the set of long legs, tapered waist and broad shoulders. The man held himself with confidence—a trait that all Alpha's shared. It reminded him of Richard, who carried the burden of his position with polished grace long since instilled in him. Bruce not only did it with finesse, but carried the experience and authority that took years to obtain. If Timothy had been born earlier there was no doubt that he'd be clamoring for Bruce's attention, age be damned.

"You don't usually attend the Gatherings," Timothy stated, grasping for some form of conversation, a common ground. "What caused you to emerge from Gotham?"

"The new faces," Bruce responded with a quirk of the lips, and his eyes that were such a bright and inquisitive blue lit up as they moved around the room. "I see a lot of old and new faces. It took me by surprise to see a number of Alphas step down from their proverbial thrones." Bruce held out his hand, grabbing a flute of champagne as a tired waiter drifted past, his expression telling that he had mentally checked out for the night. A trait that Timothy wanted to desperately share. "Alpha Guide Wallace has been our little star for the year."

Timothy hummed at the thought, his eyes drifting to the red-head who was in the midst of a conversation with Lex Luthor of all people. Wally Wallace was an Alpha Guide from Central City, and, with the death of his parents in a rather tragic accident, had stepped up to the plate as Alpha Guide with no current Sentinel. His city was prime for the taking by a bold Sentinel and the sudden realization that Lex Luthor had taken an interest in the playful red-head was startling. He didn't know that Alpha Luthor could be so desperate in expanding his territory considering that neither cities were even remotely close to one another.

"He's a good man," Timothy stated, never having the pleasure of meeting Wally, but always hearing the good things from Richard who was a childhood friend of the newly minted Alpha. "I'm sure that Central City will continue to prosper under his care."

"Of course," Bruce murmured, as if it wasn't a question. "Wally is a good, kind-hearted man, and Central City will do well under his care." Bruce shot Timothy an amused look at this. "What about New York?"

"What about it?" Timothy pressed, a tight smile pulling his lips at the question. "She's doing just fine under Richard's care."

"Just under Richard's care?" Bruce teased. "Is she not also under your care? The charity events along with the care centers that you've developed have helped hundreds if not thousands of people, including Guides and Sentinels from my own territory." Bruce's teasing lilt faded and compassion took its place. "That's the reason that I came to greet you. I wanted to thank you for your hard work and contribution towards the Guide and Sentinel Community."

"I—" Timothy flushed, at a loss for words. Bruce Wayne, Alpha Sentinel of Gotham City, one of the strongest cities on the East Coast, was complimenting him? On his work? Work that he sincerely thought wasn't making a dent or difference in their world?

"T-Thank you," Timothy whispered, still flushed and caught off guard. He lowered his eyes, scratching the back of his neck—a nervous tick. "I didn't really think I was making a difference."

"Nonsense." Bruce brushed away his insecurities, and placed a hand on his shoulders. "You've touched countless lives with your work." Bruce's hand squeezed his shoulder and bent down, staring into his eyes and Timothy's heart stopped as the next words escaped Bruce's mouth, the tone low and holding a touch of amused admiration.

"You've touched lives as Timothy Jackson Drake and as Oracle." Bruce pulled away, his face blank and his lips thinned and white as if what he just spoke was blasphemy. "Keeping your city safe from both sides is not only admirable but speaks of your devotion and love."

Timothy's jaw clenched and he swallowed, trying and failing to calm his racing heart. Richard would hear it from across the room and the outcome wouldn't be pretty from all sides. So Timothy did what he did best in such harrowing situations.

He denied it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Timothy murmured, knowing full well that Bruce could hear him underneath the heartbeats, music and laughter of their counterparts. "I don't know who Oracle is."

"You don't?" Bruce looked amused at his attempt, and Timothy had never wanted to knock the smile off someone's face so badly until now. "Denial doesn't seem like your strong suit."

"And minding one's own business doesn't seem like yours, Alpha Wayne." Timothy smiled, a full-toothed grin that failed to reach his eyes. The temperature around them dropped and Timothy folded his arms as if he was protecting himself from Bruce's scrutiny. He wouldn't back down from this inquisition, but one question was burning at the back of his mind.

How did Bruce know about Oracle?

He was sure that he'd covered his tracks, and the only person who knew about his alter ego was his mother, who was well versed in keeping family secrets. She wouldn't let loose a secret that would destroy the Grayson and Drake name. That only meant one logical conclusion.

"When did it happen?" Timothy questioned softly. "When did you start sending bugs into my city? After me, specifically?"

"Gotham and New York have always been rather close considering the Graysons and Waynes ran in the same circles. So you have to understand that when someone stepped into one of my circles I had to look into it." A look of impressions flickered across Bruce's features before he continued. "Imagine my surprise when my little birdie came back to me with that little tidbit of information."

"That's good and all, but I don't know who or what Oracle is, so I'm afraid that your little birdie failed in their information gathering. Maybe you should considering getting someone else for the job?"

Bruce's smile turned flinty at the jab and he took a sip of the champagne before lowering the glass and turning to stare across the room at Richard and Damian, who seemed to be in a rather animated discussion. "My intention wasn't to intimidate you into confessing but to warn you that more than one person knows about Oracle and Nightwing. I'm not the first and I certainly won't be the last."

"Nightwing and Oracle have done plenty for this city and will continue to do so." Timothy's lips quirked in Bruce's direction. "As does Batman and Superman along with the Flash and Green Lantern. I find it hilarious that you're worrying about small time vigilantes like Nightwing and Oracle when you have such a menacing threat like Batman walking around your city like he owns it, no? Not to mention the pissing contest between Superman and Lex Luthor. The whole of Metropolis wants one to be their Alpha and it's a shame that neither can decide."

"As I've said before, I'm always inclined to find out about new people entering my circle, and it's always a good thing to keep a step ahead of the game, correct?" Bruce reached out and placed a hand on Timothy's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "A word to the wise, Timothy. It's best to calm your breathing and heart rate before talking to Sentinels who can sense that you're lying."

Timothy scoffed, moving his shoulder and knocking away Bruce's hand. "I still don't know what you're talking about, Alpha Wayne. And a word to the wise? You make sure that you watch your own city." Timothy's lips quirked as he turned on his heel and made his way to Richard's side, who had since started staring in their direction with a raised eyebrow and pinched lips. "Wouldn't want to unmask Batman, right?"

Bruce said nothing in reply, merely taking another sip of his champagne, watching as Timothy escaped his attention.

For now.

"You two seem rather friendly." Richard took him into his arms as soon as he was within arms reach. "What did you talk about?"

"This and that," Timothy responded swiftly, not wanting to start that conversation again. "He just wanted to thank me for the care centers that were put up last year. He says that even his own Sentinels and Guides travel there to get treatment."

"Of course," Richard said gently. "It doesn't matter what territory our people are from, we're more than happy to take them in, right?"

"Right." Timothy finally noticed a smaller young man standing next to Richard who was watching them with curious green eyes. "Oh. I'm sorry. I seem to be losing my manners tonight." Timothy held out a hand. "My name is Timothy Drake. You must be Damian, Bruce's son?"

"His only son." Damian took his hand, giving it a rather firm shake. "I heard what you were talking about with my father. Is it true?"

Timothy immediately narrowed his eyes at the rather abrupt question. "It's rude to eavesdrop on another conversation, Sentinel Wayne. It reflects badly on your upbringing."

"What use are the skills of a Sentinel if we don't use them?"

"What good is having manners and territories if you don't use and keep them safe?" Timothy countered. "If it were anybody but me they'd demand retribution. I could easily say that you insulted me and invaded my privacy." Timothy narrowed his eyes viciously. "We can call your father over here and see what he has to say—"

"No." Damian looked frightened for a brief moment, as if getting Bruce angry was a sin itself. "I—" Damian clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed. "I apologize, Alpha Grayson. I meant no disrespect."

"Your apology is accepted," Timothy murmured, feeling a flash of regret for being so harsh with the small child, but better that he learn now rather than later when he really offended someone. "How do you like the Gathering?"

"It's fine," Damian muttered, a rather sour look on his face. "It's a pissing contest."

A snort escaped Timothy's throat before he could stop it and Richard chuckled next to him in agreement. "That's the reality of the Gathering, but no one really says it out-loud. Well, until now that is."

"Why do we have the Gatherings? Father never told me."

"It really is a pissing contest between the territories. Granted, the West Coast has their own Gathering, but we get a few from the other side of the country so they can scope out the competition, while others are just curious, and then the remaining come for appearance's sake. Alpha Wilson isn't one for Gatherings, but he understands that he needs to make appearance once in a while."

"Gotham doesn't need to make an appearance. We show our power," Damian stated and Timothy pitied him all the more for it. Already eleven years old and power hungry for his father's position. Thinking that he could make Gotham City better and more powerful.

"You should watch what you say around people you don't know, Damian," Richard scolded lightly. "People won't take this posturing lightly."

"Then maybe they shouldn't be Alphas in the first place," Damian grumbled, huffing when Bruce waved him over with Alpha Wallace at his side, obviously wanting to start showing off his son sooner rather than later. "Excuse me."

Timothy slid the glass of champagne out of Richard's hand once Damian was out of earshot. "What a little firecracker. Where did you find him?"

"He was sitting there all alone," Richard murmured, watching with interested eyes as Timothy downed the champagne like it was water. "What's got you in a drinking mood tonight? That's not like you."

"It's been a long night. I was never one for the Gatherings." Timothy shrugged, placing the glass back on the table behind them. "How much longer do we have to stay here?"

"Three more hours. We still have to have the dinner and introductions for the new Alpha Guide and Sentinels, and then we can go—" Richard stopped, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. "Or, we can go now, I'm afraid. There's an emergency with Jason, the Council is calling a meeting."

"What?" Timothy blinked, confused. "What's going on?"

"He didn't say." Richard leaned down and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Can you handle it?"

"You—" Timothy swallowed at the thought of facing all of these Alphas alone. "You can't leave me alone! Are you insane?!"

"No. You're more diplomatic than me when concerning situations like this, Timmy." Richard pressed another kiss against Timothy's temple. "I have to go. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Timothy opened his mouth to protest, but Richard was already out of the door, his coat fluttering behind him. He made an attempt to call out again when the door creaked open and the smell of desert drifted up his nose, and in unison the entire room turned to see the new visitor in the form of an old, rather fit man who was draped in a rather well-fitting black suit with a red tie along and a killer smile.

"Is..." a voice murmured next to him that he recognized as Wally's. "Is that Ra's Al Ghul?"

It was at this moment that Timothy could only look up at the sky and ask why this always happened to him and only him.


	15. Chapter Fifteen : An Old Friend

Ra's al Ghul, Alpha Sentinel and head of the al Ghul family, was a well-fit man in his fifties with tan skin and graying temples that made him look distinguished, but Timothy wasn't fooled by the well-tailored suit or the charming smile. He could sense the danger beneath the smile, laughter, and mild-manners and it ran a shiver down his spine. He wasn't the most politically motivated person in the world, but even he could see that the man had had the room wrapped around his finger within minutes and had gained quite the crowd. They stood around, enraptured as he moved his hands, telling a story of his days as a soldier and later days as a mercenary. But, while everyone listened politely, not one person in that crowd was entirely fooled. They knew that the al Ghul family had all been trained assassins for generations, killing dictators, presidents, and even royalty on occasion. Polite society dictated, however, that it was best not to out a man who could kill you with a snap of your neck.

"You look pale." Bruce's smooth tenor flowed over him, and he startled and turned to find the man staring down at him with mild concern. "Are you alright?" Bruce turned back to Ra's al Ghul with a tight frown. "I have to admit that his appearance was a surprise."

"He doesn't reside in the states, correct?" Timothy questioned quietly, his lips thinning when Bruce nodded, keeping his eyes on Ra's al Ghul as the man finally decided to move around the room to mingle with the other guests. "Do you know why he's here?"

"I assume to celebrate Damian's first Gathering," Bruce responded, blessing him with a tight grin when Timothy turned to him with flushed cheeks. "You don't have to pretend that you don't know he's Damian's grandfather and my son. I'm not deaf to the rumors of Damian's birth and his mother."

"So it's true then?" Timothy prodded carefully, knowing that he was treading on thin ice. "That Talia al Ghul is Damian's mother?"

"He has her eyes and mannerisms. The snarky attitude that you saw on display earlier was all her and none of me." Bruce's lips quirked at the thought. "He does know, on occasion, when to keep his mouth shut. I must apologize for his earlier behavior. He may claim to be an Alpha in the making, but he knows next to nothing about the rules of polite society concerning Sentinels and Guides."

"It's alright." Timothy waved away the apology, feeling a spark of amusement as he recalled the panicked, flushed look Damian had adopted at the thought of his father knowing of his misstep. "He's a child."

"He's eleven," Bruce corrected firmly. "That's old enough to know the rules and to respect others' privacy to a certain degree. I'd rather he learn now than down the road when he 'accidentally' offends an Alpha from another city worse than one from another country."

"Of course," Timothy murmured, not wanting to overstep his own bounds concerning how Bruce raised his son. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you plan on doing about the little... situation?" Timothy's gaze slid smoothly from his company to the man in question, who had made it across the room by this point. It would only be a matter of time before he made it to Timothy and Bruce's side and that was a conversation he wasn't looking forward to having. At all.

"He's my son's grandfather," Bruce stated, and sounded miserable for it. "Society dictates that I must tell him of Damian's progress. A Sentinel's grandfather has as much claim to the child as his father does. He is, after all, an Alpha as well."

"Ah." Timothy said nothing more about the situation, understanding all too well familial situations when concerning Sentinel and Guides. For Sentinels, the rules dictated that the father and grandfather be involved in the child's life, not only to pass down knowledge, but for experience.

"Was your grandfather involved in your life?" Timothy asked curiously.

"No," Bruce murmured, a pained look entering his eyes at the thought. "My father's involvement in my life was sudden and brief, and Alfred, my butler, played the role of my grandfather. He taught me the old ways, and those are tenants that I hold close."

"Not a fan of the modern ways?"

Bruce's lips twisted at the question. "I'm not a fan, but I respect Sentinels that uphold the modern ways. However, I don't believe that an Alpha Sentinel's territory should be controlled by only him or her alone. The balance of power should be divided among those who can be trusted."

"You hold no council," Timothy stated swiftly, raising an eyebrow at Bruce's beliefs. "In fact, Gotham hasn't held a council since the days of your father."

"My father had people whom he trusted with his life. I do not." Bruce left it at that, raising the champagne glass to his lips. "You understand my situation, do you not, Timothy?"

"I do," Timothy acknowledged. Although he wasn't involved with political matters at the moment, Timothy had watched his own father and mother struggle with polite society and their own business. The situation had only grown worse since his arranged bonding with Richard had been set in stone. He could picture the stress his parents had gone through as the arrangement came to fruition. He could imagine their relief when Timothy finally found an apartment of his own and filtered into Richard's circles, making a name for himself.

He was relieved to no longer be a point of stress for his parents.

"What path do you think Damian will follow?" Timothy asked, curiously. Although just eleven years old, Damian had a plan for Gotham thanks to his parents input and stalwart dedication.

"He prefers the old ways." Bruce sounded confident about it and a little bitter if Timothy was listening correctly. "He thinks that power shouldn't be divided amongst a council. He thinks that a leader should be firm and resolute in his actions and decisions."

"He thinks leaders should be like al Ghul?" Timothy murmured, watching as the mentioned Sentinel approached them with a sharp smile and inquisitive eyes. Timothy was quite surprised that Ra's' eyes were directly on him instead of Bruce, who was considered a son-in-law at this point.

"Good evening," Ra's al Ghul murmured, and Timothy's jaw clenched as the man's presence literally pressed against his shields in a curious manner, reminding Timothy of a child who'd just discovered the internet. The touch was cautious, but Timothy couldn't help but be rankled at the attempt.

"Good afternoon, Ra's al Ghul." Bruce shifted, making sure that his body was shielding Timothy from the man's gaze. "Have you spoken to Damian?"

"No." Ra's lips twitched, his eyes turning knowing when Bruce shifted again, his shoulders tensing when Ra's took a step in Timothy's direction. "I was hoping we could approach him together. I heard that he's been giving Talia trouble as of late. He's acting rather arrogant about his new status as prince." Ra's raised an eyebrow in Bruce's direction. "You wouldn't have anything to do with that behavior, would you?"

"No," Bruce responded smoothly. "I'm afraid that it was a packaged deal." Bruce raised an eyebrow when Ra's' lips tightened at the veiled insult. "How is Talia?"

"She is well," Ra's responded. "She wishes to see her son. What time would be preferable to you?"

"That would be up to Damian," Bruce replied, a flinty smile pulling at his lips. "After all, was she not the one who abandoned him? Threw him to the wolves of Gotham?"

"It was for his safety," Ra's stated firmly. "He would be dead otherwise."

"If I am correct, father," Bruce began, a mocking tone coloring his voice. "Is it not the strong that survive? If Damian couldn't cut it in the clan, then why bother with him at all? Isn't that what you taught Talia? Or"—Bruce raised an eyebrow—"was it that Talia wanted our son to become the finely-dressed prince of a city that was already drenched in sin and refused to be cleaned?"

"You insult your city?" Ra questioned quietly. "To prove a point?"

"I am well aware of the darkness that Gotham holds, and I am aware of your proposition for Damian." Bruce's eyes darkened when Ra's remained still, seemingly unaffected at the revelation of his plans. "That you want Damian to give Gotham to the League." Bruce shot Timothy an apologetic look, and Timothy didn't have to wonder very long before his heart dropped at the next words.

"That you want Damian and Timothy in an arranged marriage."

"I beg you pardon?" Timothy's question was weak over the blood rushing in his ears. He stared at Ra's, who simply shot him a curved smile, his eyes lighting up in interest. As if what Bruce had just revealed didn't mean a damn thing, worse yet, as if it didn't matter if Timothy heard him or not.

"I have no intention of marrying your son." Timothy swallowed at the thought, but he wouldn't be surprised if Damian agreed. "I'm already in an arranged bonding with Alpha Grayson, in which I am more than content."

"Of course." Ra's brushed off his protests smoothly. "The so-called Power Couple. I admire the notion, although I am not one for rumors." Ra's shot Bruce an amused look at this. "Your relationship hasn't been on the smoothest road. However, the small argument you had at the auction did prove quite profitable."

Timothy said nothing, his cheeks heating at the blatant reminder of their very public fight during the auction. "It wasn't a problem, Alpha al Ghul." Timothy gritted his teeth. "I was more than happy to contribute towards the research of Sentinels and Guides."

"Your contribution was more than welcome." Ra's was quiet for a moment, before speaking up again, his voice quiet. "The arranged marriage between Damian and yourself was just a thought. I am well aware of the insult it would have brought to Alpha Grayson, and I am well aware that you would not marry a child, which is why the proposal was never brought forward, at least until Bruce decided to goad us with the information, no?"

"My apologies." Bruce stepped in smoothly and Timothy was no fool to think that the apology was sincere. "I thought that Timothy deserved to be privy to plans that involved him, no?"

"Of course—"

"Grandfather." Damian's rough voice came from behind them, and Ra's was quick to turn and see his grandson standing there with a mulish frown. "Good evening."

"Good evening, Damian." Ra's leaned down and pressed his forehead against Damian's, breathing in the child's scent for a moment before stepping back and placing a hand on Damian's shoulder. "Come, we have much to discuss."

Damian looked to Bruce, then Timothy, before returning his gaze to his grandfather, his gaze reluctant before nodding. "Yes, Grandfather. Are you staying until the Gathering ends, Father?"

"Yes," Bruce responded, sounding displeased about it. "Spend time with your grandfather and enjoy yourself."

A blank expression flickered across Damian's face at the order. "Yes." Damian nodded his head in Timothy's direction before turning on his heel and following behind his grandfather, reminding Timothy of a puppy running after its master.

"Did you really have to involve me in your problems?" Timothy muttered once the two of them were out of earshot. "Your dislike of the man is valid. I'll give you that."

"He corrupts my son," Bruce murmured, his eyes darkening with pain, and Timothy wanted to reach out and sooth the man, but with so many eyes and ears it would be inappropriate. "He uses him to take over my city and I can't do anything without a shred of evidence. I couldn't do anything with a shred of evidence."

"I'm sure Batman would be more than willing to help you," Timothy stated softly. "As would Oracle and Nightwing if you asked nicely."

Bruce tensed before a soft chuckle escaped his throat. "Touche, but I think I'll pass." He shrugged. "After all, I'm positive Batman can solve his own problems. Besides, Oracle and Nightwing have their own problems too, right? In and out of the life."

Timothy said nothing, reaching out and grabbing a champagne glass as a waiter passed by and lifting it to his lips. What was there to say to that? He was right, after all. They both had their troubles in and out of "costume," and dipping their fingers into Batman and Gotham's problems would only deepen their rift further. No, as much as he wanted to help, it would be best to stay out of Gotham and Bruce's problems.

For now.

0000000000000000000000000000

The Annual Gathering ended on a quiet note. The Sentinels and Guides of the East Coast murmured a quiet goodbye before disappearing into expensive cars or limos, leaving startled expressions on the hotel's staff due to the immaculate state of the used space left behind (courtesy of Alpha Wilson).

Timothy was the last to leave, with Bruce Wayne showing him to the car that Richard had sent thirty minutes prior. He lowered his head with a tight smile and bright eyes, obviously in a better mood than when the party had started.

"I hope we meet again, Alpha Guide Drake," Bruce said with a winning grin and a relaxed posture that spoke volumes of the Alpha's state of mind, most likely too tired to be tense about meeting Damian's grandfather.

"As do I, Alpha Wayne," Timothy responded softly before slipping inside the car and driving into the waking New York streets, back to his apartment where the tenants were slowly waking up.

He thanked the driver before going up the stairs in an effort to wake himself up. He would be expecting a call from Richard soon and he expected the man to want to know everything about the Gathering. He would need coffee or alcohol.

It really didn't matter at this point.

Timothy's feet hit the last stair before arriving on his floor, and he stilled when he noticed a lone figure standing next to his door with his back facing Timothy. The man was rather broad in the shoulders and wore a simple black jacket and blue jeans along with a pair of worn boots too poorly insulated for New York's infamous winters.

Timothy stopped, opening his mouth to greet the man, but his jaw snapped closed when the man turned and he caught himself staring into a pair of luminous blue eyes with a matching grin.

"Timmy," the man greeted smoothly, folding his arms over his broad chest. His hands were generously covered in thick, black gloves. "Long time no see! Making a name for yourself with that loser husband?"

Timothy blinked slowly, wanting to reach up and pinch himself to make sure that he wasn't dreaming. After all, it had been so long since he last seen the man standing in front of his door, right?

"You're going to just stand there and not say anything?" the man mocked playfully. "Or did you forget who I was?"

"No." Timothy's tired face morphed into a mild smile and his posture shifted from tense to relaxed as he took in his old friend whom he hadn't seen in ages. "It's good to see you again, Conner Kent."


	16. Jealousy

The moment the door shut behind them, Conner took Timothy into his arms and swung him around once before depositing him back on his feet and ruffling his hair. Timothy brushed his hand away and folded his arms. He regarded Conner with a tight smile and suspicious eyes as Conner was quick to remove his jacket, gloves, and boots before jumping on the couch and smoothing his hands over the cushions to look for the remote. Timothy, however, was quick to grab the remote out of his friend's reach and hold it over his head.

"What are you doing here?" Timothy asked, holding the remote higher when Conner made another half-hearted attempt. "You're not the type to make impromptu appearances."

"I need a reason to see my friend?" Conner scoffed, grabbing the remote and turning on the television, muffling Timothy's own snort. "I was in the area and decided to drop by and see how you were doing."

Timothy's violet eyes narrowed at the excuse and he smothered his doubt. It wasn't often that he got a phone call from Conner, let alone a visit. Conner was in the process of becoming a lawyer and didn't have the time to spare for relationships, even if said relationship had kindled since they were ten years old. He didn't blame or judge Conner for the lack of communication, because he had done the same thing when he was in school and, furthermore, when he started his "relationship" with Richard. He should be happy that his friend came to visit, but something tickled at the back of his mind and he couldn't help but think about why his friend was here in his apartment, disturbing his neighbors, who were Sentinels that worked the night shift as bodyguards. With that thought in mind, he reached out and snatched the remote from Conner's hands and turned it down to a manageable level.

"You can hear it," Timothy chided, and leaned against the back of the couch, shooting his friend an amused look. "You still haven't told me why you're here in New York."

"I need a reason?" Conner dodged, evasive in his answer as he was when they were teenagers. "I can't just come and see you and see how you're doing—"

"You could call," Timothy hedged swiftly. "Or Skype. You're in the process of writing your thesis, right? Not only that but studying for your bar exams? And you found the time to skip across the country and visit me?"

It wasn't surprising that Conner's tan cheeks flushed at having been caught out. Timothy didn't press it further, deciding to be quiet and wait until Conner found the time and the words to explain why he was standing in front of his apartment after a long day.

"Stephanie called me," Conner broke, interrupting Timothy's thoughts and starting a downward spiral of questions in his mind, one of which being how Stephanie even met Conner and the second one being why Stephanie had called Conner.

"She said that you were stressed out," Conner murmured, reaching out and placing his larger hand on Timothy's wrist to ground him and bring him back from the black hole that was currently his thought process. "She said that your husband was giving you a hard time with the politics."

"He's not," Timothy protested, the excuse weak to even his own ears. "He hasn't been in the best mood lately, and I'm not making it easier."

Conner shot him an incredulous look at the lame excuse. "You're joking, right? I mean, when has Richard ever cared about your feelings when it came to New York or the Council? He's still giving you a hard time about living with another Guide and your involvement with the runnings of this city. So, do yourself a favor and don't defend him from me, alright? It's only pissing me off."

"I didn't want you to come across the country and start a fight with the Alpha Sentinel of New York, Conner," Timothy replied, feeling a rush of bemusement at the situation. Once again Stephanie had no qualms about poking at his life when she felt he needed a little more optimism.

"I know, I know." Conner brushed off his concern, his eyes gleaming with a mischievousness that Timothy had no patience to endure. "I know about the reputations that I have to keep intact."

"Conner," Timothy winced at the thought of his friend's parentage. He supposed being the son of Superman and Lex Luthor had its disadvantages and advantages. One of them being that Lex Luthor had all but handed Metropolis over to Conner when the moment presented itself. Conner would eventually take over Metropolis, which meant that Superman had all but control over the city via his son, which worked just fine with Lois Lane, Superman's (aka Clark Kent's) wife, who was an Alpha Guide herself. The ties she had with Conner via her husband would make her a "Guide Mother," since Conner had no mate to speak of due to his unusual birth and upbringing. Timothy knew that there was no love lost between all of them, but they were adults and understood that their animosity towards one another couldn't affect the populace and their future.

The situation was a mess, and Timothy's heart ached for Conner, but his friend had brushed it off and embraced the situation as best he could, and, with a grin, decided to live his life to the fullest. The man drank, danced, ate, dated, had sex and did all the normal things a man of his prime did, and dragged Timothy on more than one of his adventures, leading to a life-long friendship that withstood a cross-country move and a wall in the form of his own Sentinel. Richard and Conner had never gotten off on the right foot, the first, second and even third meeting going so wrong that the two of them couldn't even stand being in the same room.

It tore at his heart that he had to cut off communication with Conner because of his and Richard's animosity, but Conner was more than understanding. He had his own problems considering that his own "parents" considered each other mortal enemies.

"It's fine," Conner soothed with a mild grin that faded into a soft smile that reached his blue eyes. "I missed you, Tim."

Timothy returned Conner's grin while ignoring heat surfacing to his cheeks. Despite his rough exterior, Conner was a charming man and had no problem getting a boyfriend or girlfriend, which was why Timothy was grateful that he was Richard's Guide. It not only got rid of the residual feelings that he harbored towards Conner, but it made their friendship easier to bear. Especially since Conner was currently in a relationship with a wonderful woman by the name of Cassandra, who coincidentally enough didn't bear the markings of a Guide. It was the reason why Lois Lane was in the position of earning the title of Guide Mother. It was a mess of a power struggle, and he was internally grateful that he didn't have to put up with it.

"I miss you too, Conner." Timothy leaned over and wrapped his arms around Conner's massive shoulders. "You never told me how you met Stephanie."

"Ah. I met her through Jason," Conner responded, earning another raised eyebrow. "You have to remember, right? That time that Jason and Stephanie took that vacation last summer? During that crazy heat wave? Metropolis wasn't better, but I ran into them when they were walking around like a lost tourist couple." Conner shrugged. "When I found out they were from New York, I took a shot in the dark, and long story short, we exchanged numbers and we've been communicating ever since."

"And neither of you thought it was a good idea to let me know?"

"Eh, it was when your relationship with Richard was still "budding" so to speak and we didn't want to rock the boat any more than it already was, you know?"

"Right." Timothy's jaw clenched at the thought. The early stages of his relationship with Richard had been a vivid nightmare, and at the time, Timothy had still been a naturally curious Guide, prone to prod where he didn't belong. The first time he'd pressed against Richard's shield, he hadn't expected the backlash or the outright anger he'd faced. He was quick to apologize, however, but he never pressed, prodded, or inquired about Richard's shields again. Even now he was wary about the action, much to Richard's displeasure.

"I'm going to crash here for the rest of the week. It's been a while since I've been to New York."

"R— Wait, what?" Timothy watched as Conner leaned against the couch and groaned as he sank into the cushions. "Conner—"

"Ugh, you're so loud." Conner reached up a hand and waved him away as if he was an irritating bug. "Why don't you go and—" Conner's hand stopped when Timothy's cell phone went off, the ring bringing a sense of dread with it.

"It's Richard," Timothy murmured, holding up a finger to his lips when he accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Hey."

"Hey, is something wrong?"

"No. I was just checking on you. How did the rest of the Gathering go? I trust you were treated well?"

"Ah, yes, it went well. I'm home and I'm safe."

"Good..." Richard paused for a moment and Timothy's heart stuttered. "Is someone there with you?"

"What?" Timothy blinked at the question, turning his head to Conner, who, by then, was sitting and staring at him with a furrowed brow. "No—"

"Timothy," Richard rumbled. "I would think you would respect me enough not to think me stupid and lie to me over the damn phone. I can hear a second heartbeat and it's not Stephanie or Jason's."

Timothy's jaw clenched and he swallowed down an insult that was at the tip of his tongue. He really didn't need Richard to have his teeth out, snapping and snarling at everything around him.

"Timothy?" Richard prodded again, his tone lighter, and Timothy knew he was on thin ice. "Did you hear me?"

"I heard you," Timothy murmured. "Conner came for a small visit. He hasn't seen me in awhile and it was surprising that he was at my door when I came home tonight."

"I... see." Richard was quiet and Timothy could hear his teeth grinding through the phone despite his lower quality hearing. "Why don't I come over?"

Timothy's eyes narrowed and he tried his damn hardest not to sigh out loud at the proposition. He could imagine the property damage that he would have to explain to his landlord if these two idiots got into a fight. Then again, he couldn't say no to Richard, not without a decent reason.

"You're not busy?" Timothy asked, trying to deflect when Conner raised an eyebrow before a knowing look crossed his features and a smirk pulled at his lips. The motion was enough for Timothy to leave the living room and head to his room when he heard footsteps coming up from behind him. Bastard.

"No." Richard could be heard shuffling around, indicating that he was gathering his things and he was coming over whether Timothy agreed to it or not. "I'm not busy at all. Is it alright if I come over? You're not busy, are you?"

"No, of course not. I'm not going anywhere for the rest of the evening, but are you sure—"

"Yes," Richard rumbled again, his tone insistent and firm. "I'll be right over. I'll see you soon."

Timothy opened his mouth, but only found the dial tone at the end of the other line. He turned, finding Conner behind him with a scowl, and he closed his eyes, a sudden wave of exhaustion coming over him at the thought of the next few hours.

"What are we going to do?"

"You're asking me that?" Timothy reached over and flicked Conner on the nose, before moving back to the living room and sitting down on the couch, tossing the phone on the cushions, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle. "You're the one who came to town knowing that this would happen. Do you want to piss him off?"

"I find it amusing," Conner countered swiftly. "I have to find my kicks somewhere, dude."

"Go back to Metropolis and find your kicks there, dude," Timothy retorted. "Why are you so bad?"

"I'm bad, I'm bad, and you know it." Conner twisted his hips before pressing a long kiss to Timothy's cheek. "It's okay, Timothy, I'm not going to let Richard hurt you and I'm not going to hurt him."

"I can't say the same for him, Conner. He's so... jealous."

"He should be," Conner muttered before leaning down and burying his face in Timothy's hair. "Do you know how beautiful you are? How intelligent? You're a catch, and I wonder if he fucking knows it."

"It doesn't matter." Timothy pulled, ignoring the fuzzy feeling of warmth at the compliment. This was one of the reasons why he was wary about Conner visiting. He always said and did things that made Timothy feel like he was floating on air. Of course, friends were more than welcome to give him the occasional compliment—Stephanie had done it on more than one occasion—but with Conner? It was different. It felt different.

"He's coming over," Timothy announced, rising from the couch and gently pushing Conner aside when a knock on the door forced him towards the door instead of the kitchen, where a nice bottle of wine was waiting. When he made no move to answer it, another knock echoed throughout the apartment, the sound of it heavy, impatient and angry.

"Open the door," Conner told him, knowing full well that Richard could hear him on the other side. Sure enough, another knock rocked the door, closer now to a bang than a polite knock. "Go on, before he knocks it down."

Timothy twisted the knob, pulling the door open to find Richard with his hand raised, poised for another knock. It was quickly lowered, Timothy gently pushed aside as Richard entered.

"Richard—"

"What is he doing here?" Richard demanded, staring Conner down with a viciousness that Timothy hadn't seen in a long time. "Why are you even in this city without my permission?"

"It's a free fucking country—" Conner snarled.

"You're on the path to becoming an Alpha Sentinel," Richard interrupted. "An Alpha Sentinel of Metropolis, which is currently in the middle of a civil conflict and a massive change of power between Superman and Lex Luthor—your parents, I might add."

"That has nothing to do with me at the moment," Conner countered swiftly. "And I don't need permission to enter a city despite what the hell you think, Alpha Grayson."

"You might not need my explicit permission, but you definitely need it to be in my Guide's apartment. Do you know how inappropriate this is?"

"There's nothing inappropriate about this, Richard," Timothy murmured, his heart racing when Richard whirled in his direction, never giving him a chance to protest, instead spitting out a single statement that sent his heart to his feet.

"It's inappropriate because you still have feelings for him." Richard reached forward and tugged on his arm, dragging Timothy behind him. "I don't want you anywhere near him. I don't care if he's your friend or not."

"I don't—" Timothy never felt so embarrassed in his entire life. His cheeks were flushed and his heartbeat picked up and his breathing increased at the sudden confession. "I don't have feelings for him, Richard. What is the matter with you?"

"You think I don't notice when you're around him? When you talk about him? You think I don't notice how your heart races? When your skin flushes? Your breath quickens? If those aren't signs of attraction then I don't know what is."

"Timothy," Conner murmured, obviously wanting to take a step towards the Guide if he hadn't been placed behind Richard. "Is that true? You had— have feelings for me?"

"I—" Timothy couldn't breathe. He had to get out of here. Now. "I'm sorry." Timothy twisted out of Richard's grip and left the apartment, heedless to both Sentinels' calls of his name and the worry in their tones. He didn't care. How could this have happened? First the Gathering, then Bruce and Ra's Al Ghul, and now this?

How could this night get any worse?


	17. An Immortal Sentinel

"You must drink," Slade commanded. "I'm not in the mood to deal with another panic attack." Slade's thin lips quirked at the thought as he stared at the finger of scotch that he slid across the table in Timothy's direction. "An explanation would also benefit me as well. What were you doing out so late at night? Have you not learned your lesson from our previous encounter?"

Timothy said nothing, dull violet eyes staring at the amber liquid before he reached out, knocked it back and set the glass back on the table, his throat burning as the liquid slid down his throat. He held back a wince at the bite of it and remained quiet, too humiliated-too embarrassed-to reveal why he was running down the streets of New York at three a.m. like a maniac with tears rolling down his cheeks, out of breath, and heart about to burst out of his chest. Was it luck that he ran into Slade again in another time of need? He was pretty sure that it was luck seeing as Slade had been loading his luggage into his car when he was running past most likely getting ready to go back to Colorado after the long weekend. He was grateful, however, when Slade was quick to stop him smelling the fear and distress of his skin and was quick to pull him back into the hotel and to the bar for a drink to calm his nerves and this is where they sat now, both quiet and tense after the abrupt reunion.

"I didn't mean to waste your time." Timothy murmured, keeping his eyes lowered when Slade scoffed at the statement. "Really. You're on way home and I am sorry for delaying your trip."

"It's no trouble at all." Slade murmured, knocking back his own scotch and licking his lips at the smooth taste of it. "I find it troubling that the Alpha Guide of New York is running through the streets-twice-while I was visiting and it worries me." Slade placed the glass back down. "It worries me that one of the most powerful cities on the planet is in turmoil because its Sentinel and Guide can't find equal footing." Slade folded his hands underneath his chin and leaned in closer, drawing a short breath from Timothy's throat. "You and Richard hold too much power to argue and bicker like children and the fact that you preside over not thousands, but millions of people is frightening, to be honest."

"Our personal problems do not affect us as leaders. We will continue to rule to the best of our abilities." Timothy was quick to reassure, his cheeks flushed in embarrassment at being called out for his and Richard's flaws as leaders of the city and state. As much as Timothy didn't want to admit it, Slade was right. This was worrying. But, he couldn't help himself and he wanted nothing more than to jump into the Hudson River to escape the fact that Connor knew that he once had feelings for him-still had feelings for him and it hurt to see that look of confliction that crossed Conner's face when Richard snarled out the secret like it had disgusted him and Timothy didn't blame him, especially after how he treated Barbara during the auction and didn't that make him a hypocrite? Acting so cruelly to her when he held his own feelings to an old friend.

"I would agree with your statement, however, I tend to notice a distinct pattern of personal and professional lies blending at a distressing rate." Slade leaned back, folding his legs across one another. "Bruce Wayne and his son, Damian, for instance. Who knew that boy was the grandson of Ra Al Ghul? The rumored leader of the League of Assassins." Slade's mouth twisted at the thought. "What a nasty turn of events and let's not forget the fact that Richard Grayson and Barbara Gordon, the daughter of Commissioner Gordon were once involved. As I stated before, what a nasty turn of events."

"For whom?" Timothy poured another finger of scotch and knocked it back, the burn a little less harsh. "I have nothing to do with Barbara Gordon, Bruce, and Damian Wayne nor do I have an affiliation with Ra Al Ghul-"

"Yet," Slade interrupted smoothly. "You have ties with all of them even if they are minuscule-"

Timothy's jaw clenched at the statement, his stomach tightening as he tried and failed to find fault with Slade's words. What a disaster to run into this man for the second time. How humiliating to have his problems laid bare and in front of a foreign Alpha Sentinel no less?

"What do you want me to say?" Timothy demanded, placing the glass on the table and watching as the water trickled down the side before landing on the wood. He wished his life was as smooth as the scotch and clear and solid as the ice cubes, but who in the hell was he kidding? "What should I say to you?"

"Nothing," Slade responded. "I'm not here to hold precedence over your life, Alpha Guide Drake. I am merely telling you what I have observed-"

"And what do you see?" Timothy spat, tired of this conversation. Of this night.

"You are lonely." Slade began gently, realizing that he may have overstepped his bounds with his words. "I can understand that as an Alpha, you have obligations not only towards your Sentinel but the people of this city as well. However, this is no excuse to ignore your own feelings and obligations. When was the last time you did something for yourself? Your own satisfaction."

Timothy said nothing, his lip trembling at the thought of Slade's question. "I don't know." he finally responded. "When I became an Alpha Guide, the thought of my own temptations, my passions, desires flew out the window. You know as well as I do that I no longer hold possession of myself." Timothy lowered his head, shielding the unshed tears from Slade's gaze, but he knew the man could smell the salt in the air, fresh, and a welcome reprieve to stale, New York air. "I'm not Timothy Drake, Slade. I am Alpha Guide Drake-Grayson. Nothing more and nothing less."

"And yet, here you are, standing before me with such distress that's pressing against my own mental shields." Slade held the glass in his hand, tightening to the point where Timothy thought it would break. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me not to reach across this table and embrace you? The one thing that you mustn't forget about Sentinels is that we care for Guides. It matters not who you belong to, but how you are treated. You are Gods on pedestals and there you shall remain for all eternity if Sentinels have anything to do with it."

Timothy shook his head in disagreement. "If that were the case then we wouldn't need mental centers for Guides and Sentinels. If Guides and Sentinels respected each other with the same ideology then our people would walk alongside one another with grasped hands and hearts." Timothy let out a bitter laugh. "However, you know that's not the case, do you not?"

Slade's remaining eye darkened at the questions and the implication behind it before lifting his drink and taking another swift swallow. "I was mistaken," Slade muttered. "To think that you do not know of the world and its flaws-of its light and darkness."

"You mistake me for a child." Timothy countered swiftly and with a tight smile. "You think of me as a sweet bird who is stuck in a cage and can only sing to entertain those around him."

"I did." Slade acknowledged. "I was wrong. I will admit such a fault."

Timothy tilted his head at the confession, allowing a moment of silence to preside over them before Timothy spoke up again, his tone teasing. "You're not exactly wrong in your assessment of my situation. To the populace, I am a bird in a cage. Then again, isn't that the way for all Guides? To be given a golden cage with toys and food? To be treated as pets until we're old and tired and ready to be put down?"

Slade's eye narrowed at the comparison, his jaw clenching. "We do no such thing, Alpha Drake-Grayson and it's an insult to insinuate that Sentinels treat-"

"If that were the case, Alpha Wilson, then would I not be out here with you? Confessing my sins? I would be at home with my Sentinel-"

"Your Sentinel is an asshole." Slade cut in rather calmly, drawing Timothy up short. "Don't blame the entirety of our culture on one rather basic encounter. Richard Grayson is a child in an adult's playground and he's steadily losing his footing with you and if I had the time and patience then I would stay and watch the shitshow, but as you can see, I have my own state to run."

"Of course." Timothy's lips twitched and he made move to defend Richard's honor-why bother when it was bordering on truth? "Again, I am sorry to waste your time-"

"Perish the thought." Slade's eye softened and his full lips twitched as if he had found the entire situation amusing with a touch of exhaustion. "I think the world of you, Alpha Drake-Grayson and perhaps, in another lifetime, we would have been friends or even companions."

Timothy huffed, warmth surfacing to his cheeks at the proposition. "Alas," he returned, teasing. "It was not to be. I am stuck with a Romeo who is blind."

"Aye, but I heard that a nice punch to solar plexus is a healthy way to cure blindness with a touch of idiocy." Slade chuckled, smirking when Timothy shared in his amusement as he rose, placing a healthy tip on the table. "Shall I escort you home? Call you a taxi?"

"I...think a taxi would be best in my current situation. It's late, but I think a visit to my parents would do my heart good." Timothy rose from the table, holding a hand out for Slade, pleasantly surprised when Slade bowed and planted a loud, smacking kiss on the back of his hand. "Be Blessed, Alpha Sentinel Slade Wilson."

"Be Blessed, Alpha Guide Drake-Grayson."

00000000000000000

Timothy was supposed to go home. He was supposed to hug his Mother and Father and complain in their arms about his job and responsibilities which was followed by a scolding and chiding about how blessed he was to be with Richard and to be the Alpha Guide of New York. Yet, the moment he left the taxi, a black SUV pulled up and rolled down its window revealing the face of Talia and Ra Al Ghul. It took all of Timothy strength and will not to get back in the taxi and scream at the cabbie to drive-he didn't care where to just drive-but, he merely paid the man and tapped the roof indicating that he was out and he no longer needed the transportation. He stood on the curb as the door to the SUV opened and Talia's slid out of the car, her heels clicking against the cold concrete.

"Good Evening." Talia's smooth tenor echoed in the cold, sending a shiver down Timothy's spine. "It's too cold and dark for you to be out, Alpha Grayson."

Timothy swallowed, folding his arms to fight the biting cold and the chill that Talia offered. "I was just on my way back home. I had a few errands to run and as you can see, they ran quite a bit late."

"Ah." Talia's painted lips pulled into a small, tight smile and she pulled the door open further. "Would you like a ride? Your mother lives on the Upper East Side, no?"

"Ah-" Timothy faltered at the offer, reaching down to his cellphone and was quite relieved when it vibrated. He knew someone out there loved him. "I'm afraid Richard is on is the way to get me. He's quite upset that I didn't call earlier-" He picked up the phone, his face brightening when it was, indeed, Richard on the other line. With a wink and a single finger in an effort for a moment of silence.

"Richard-"

"Where are you?"

"At Mother's," Timothy responded, refusing to raise his gaze towards Talia and Ra Al Ghul. Now was not the time to act timid. He really should have taken that ride home with Sentinel Wilson. "Can you come get me?"

"Of course." Richard murmured. "We have so much that we need to talk about, Timothy. Conner has returned home, I'm afraid. It was the wrong time for him to visit."

Good God.

Timothy jaw clenched at the smug tone Richard adopted. Dealing with the man's jealousy almost wanted him to jump into the SUV so that he wouldn't have to deal with it. Alas, he wasn't that crazy nor suicidal.

"That's quite alright. Ah. I almost forgot I-I ran into Lady Talia and Lord Ra Al Ghul. Alpha Damian Wayne's Mother and Grandfather, remember?"

"What...?" Richard's response was cold, smooth as marble and Timothy shivered at the sound of it. This wasn't good. It was a direct insult to come into a city without checking in with its Alpha and an uninvited Alpha and Guide were in Richard's city and trying to pick up his Guide. Timothy could smell and taste the bloodbath before it even began.

"Please." Richard murmured. "Give them regards and apologize for not being able to greet them properly, but I will be able to rectify the problem as soon as I arrive. Will you be okay for another twenty minutes?"

He did not want to stay for another twenty minutes, but what choice did he have?

"Of course." Timothy finally looked up and into Talia's green eyes and his jaw clenched at her smirk. There was no way they would leave him alone for twenty minutes outside in the cold, so what choice did he have?

"Ah." Timothy hung up the phone. "Richard is about twenty minutes out. So-"

"We will wait." Ra Al Ghul spoke up quietly but with the deep and calm tone, it might have as well been a sharp roar. "We have much to discuss, Alpha Drake-Grayson. You may step inside where its warm."

Timothy stilled, taking a deep, shuddering breath before stepping inside, his heart skyrocketing as the door shut and locked behind him. He hoped this beautiful car wouldn't become his grave-

Although, if it was, it wouldn't be bad, the leather seats felt excellent.


End file.
